The Beauty Within
by Sakurau121
Summary: AU (2017 ver) The Prince was never cursed by an Enchantress but he rules like a beast. He taxes the villages, leading Maurice into debt. Belle has no choice but to work at the castle to stop her father from being sent to prison. Reduced to that of a humble maid, Belle hopes to never encounter the Prince, but when her curiosity gets the better of her, it leads to consequences...
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Special thanks to darkslover on tumblr for being the catalyst for this AU story. The original idea was proposed by them and if they hadn't, this wouldn't exist! Anyway, please like and review, and I hope you guys enjoy this! Happy reading!

Chapter 1

It was raining perhaps a little heavier than usual. The grass was already wet and the vegetable patch was starting to get muddy. Belle stood on the balcony, partially protected from the thunderous rain by the leaky roof above her head. Squinting, she looked through the rain and down towards the street, desperately trying to make out if she could see Phillipe.

The sky was becoming darker by the minute, which only added to her anxiety since it meant that it would become nearly impossible to make out her father's carriage in the darkness. As always, Belle knew that once night fell, their street would become pitch black and she would have to give up and go inside.

Their cottage was situated on the very edge of a rural town in the heart of France, an insignificant place named Villeneuve. The council had only the money to light the inner most part of the town, for reasons which everyone knew perfectly well. However, some people who lived in the centre took pride in this, as it gave them an opportunity to distinguish themselves amongst their small community. They viewed those who lived on the edges of the provincial town as below them in class and place in society. Those unfortunate provided a small form of entertainment for them, as they could gossip and wonder who was going to end up next in the debtor's prison.

Belle and her father fell into this group of discriminated persons; not that they minded or paid much attention to it. As her father once told her, the village may be small-minded, but at least it was safe. Belle often wondered what her father meant by 'safe'. The only thing she knew was that they had moved away from Paris because, for whatever reason, it had become unsafe for them to remain there.

"Where are you papa," murmured Belle to herself as she wrapped her shawl tightly around herself, the wind causing her to shiver. She was really starting to get worried.

Luckily for her, a carriage soon revealed itself through the thick fog, which was starting to descend upon the town. Belle gradually began to recognize Phillipe's shadow and the wagon he was pulling.

"Papa!" shouted Belle as she descended the steps hastily and ran out into the rain.

"Belle!" replied her father, who, with difficulty, climbed down the wagon to embrace his daughter.

"Papa, I thought you wouldn't make it back through the storm," said Belle, hugging her father tightly. He was as cold as ice.

"I had to come back tonight. I didn't want you to worry," replied her father warmly with a small smile before he started to cough.

"Come, Papa, get inside. I'll take Phillipe to the stable. I'll take care of the wagon tomorrow morning once the rain has stopped."

"I managed quite well this time at the market. Sold nearly everything," replied her father as he made his way towards their humble home.

Belle grinned in response before detaching Phillipe from the cart and taking him quickly into the stable.

"There you go," sighed Belle as she rubbed her horse's neck and put down a bucket of water next to him. "Thank you for always bringing him home safely."

She couldn't deny that she hadn't noticed that her father was becoming more and more frail every time he came back from one of his trips. It was these trips to the market which kept a roof over their heads, but Belle knew that soon enough she could no longer rely on her father. It was only a matter of years, perhaps even months, before she would need to do more than work in the fields and read books all day. Although she took pride in her inventions, she knew that it couldn't be something she could depend on financially. If only she had been born a man…. She doubted that the villagers would view her as odd if she had been.

 _This is the world we live in Belle._

Belle felt her hands instinctively grip Phillipe's reins tightly.

Gaston's words sent a chill down her spine. She would never openly admit it, but he did have a point.

The local village hero, a celebrated soldier he may be, but to Belle, Gaston represented everything she detested. Even if she did end up like Agatha, begging on the streets, it was a far better situation to be in than that of Gaston's wife. That would be soul destroying for Belle, something she could never accept. Luckily her father understood this and saw past Gaston's grandiose gestures, seeing him for what he truly was.

"I want so much more than this provincial life," muttered Belle to herself as she left Phillipe to return to the cottage. As she turned a corner to climb up the steps, she noticed a large carriage coming down the street, along with two riders. The carriage was black with open windows.

And bars.

Belle's eyes widened as she hastily ran the steps and barged into the dining room where her father was warming his hands by the stove.

"Father, there's a carriage outside and-"

Her daughter needn't have said anymore. Maurice knew exactly who it was.

"It's alright Belle, we have the money, we can pay them and soon they will be on their way."

No sooner had he finished reassuring his daughter when there came a loud and violent knock of the front door.

"I will get it," said Maurice firmly as he put on his coat, restraining his daughter from answering it.

As he opened the door, the freezing, cold, night air from outside came swooping inside, extinguishing whatever warm atmosphere that had been there before.

"Monsieur," drawled a middle-aged man in an almost disinterested manner, holding out a partially wet piece of parchment. Behind him stood two guardsmen, wearing the symbol of the debtor's prison. "You have failed to pay yet again. This is the second time in six months. You have no choice but to be taken to the debtor's prison."

"Now wait a minute Monsieur," replied Maurice, his voice surprisingly calm. "I have the money from market today. This should be sufficient."

Fishing out a piece of parchment from his waist pocket, Maurice passed to Monsieur D'Arque a list of all the trinkets he had sold that day. As for D'Arque, he merely lifted his eyebrows as he looked down at the list.

After a moment, during which Maurice smiled tenderly at Belle who was standing just slightly behind him, D'Arque spoke.

"It's not enough."

"What?" replied Maurice, astonished.

"I'm sorry Maurice, but it's not enough. I must take you to the debtor's prison where you will pay what you owe through manual labour. It is the only way."

"But last time, this was enough! This doesn't make any sense!" protested Maurice as Belle grabbed hold of his hand. It was still cold from the endless hours of riding he had had to endure. Now it seemed as if that had all been for nothing.

D'Arque looked warily at Belle's distraught face before speaking again.

"The taxes have been raised again."

"I knew it," snapped Maurice as he ran his right hand shakily through his grey hair. "How much more money does that pompous-"

"I would be careful with your words Maurice. You know what happens to those who start protesting against the aristocracy-"

"I don't care!" shouted Maurice in response, his emotions getting the better of him. "That selfish 'Prince' who lives in that shining castle is going to regret the way he has been taxing all the surrounding villages. One day, if he's not careful-"

"Papa," interrupted Belle, begging her father to stop. This was not helping them, as much as she hated the nobility as much as her father did.

"Maurice," sighed D'Arque, pulling out a pair of heavy-looking handcuffs. "Please, you know the law."

Maurice stared at the metal handcuffs for a moment before turning in resignation towards Belle.

"Listen to me Belle," he started, trying to steady his voice as he took his precious daughter's hands into his own for perhaps the last time in his life. "You must leave Villeneuve. Go as far away as you can from this village, from this heartless place. Find somewhere where you will not end up in a debtor's prison like me. You are clever, beyond your years, and you are fearless, just like your mother."

"But Papa, I can't let you-" started Belle, who could already feel the tears starting to well up in her eyes.

"No, Belle, I have lived my life. You must go on without me. I love you."

The guards proceeded to swiftly grab hold of Maurice's arms and pull him outside.

"Wait!" protested Belle, she too stepping out into the rain to follow them to the black carriage which was parked in front of the vegetable patch.

"Mademoiselle, I am terribly sorry, but I'm afraid this is the world we live in," said D'Arque as he opened the doors at the back of the carriage.

 _This is the world we live in._

Belle paused as she watched D'Arque lift her father into the carriage.

"Is there really no other way?"

D'Arque paused, his hands on the wooden doors. Inside, Maurice sat frowning at him, confused by the sudden stop of his movements. There was something about the girl's voice which made him listen. There was something strong, determined, unfazed about it. He closed his eyes before looking up the young woman.

She was pretty. Brown hair, brown eyes. Blonde would have been better. But….

D'Arque paused and looked once more at the spirited young woman. No, there was more than that. She was beautiful, in a subtle way. In the sort of way where if one was observant, one would look twice and see a strong spirit. This was a good thing. It meant she could survive there.

But it also meant that it would make it that much more dangerous for her.

But it also made it a possibility.

Belle narrowed her eyes as she noticed D'Arque staring at her melancholically.

"There is a way," he muttered before stepping away from the carriage and walked towards her. "But you won't like it."

"Will it keep my father out of prison?" asked Belle, raising her eyebrows in defiance.

"Yes," replied D'Arque, shrugging his shoulders. "But it would mean placing you in a different kind of prison instead."

"What do you mean? A different debtor's prison?"

"No mademoiselle," said D'Arque, shaking his head. "It might be possible for you to work at the Prince's castle."

Belle stared in disbelief. She could hardly believe her ears. She knew, of course, of young women in the village who went off to be scullery maids at the castle, but they lived in the centre and didn't have fathers being dragged off to debtor's prisons.

"Usually you would need a reference. But, you could probably get away with it. I overheard someone in the pub saying that one of the maids had been dismissed."

"Why are you suggesting this to me specifically?" asked Belle in a guarded manner. Something about his tone felt off.

"The Prince is reportedly fond of pretty faces. Whereas other girls would never manage to get a foot near that place, I think you might be able to do so. The Prince is known to accept young women in families of financial struggle to work for him, to pay off their debts. You would be working as the lowest of the low of course. Mostly maintaining the castle grounds or working in the cellars and kitchens where no one would ever see you. Of course, this all comes at a price."

"What do you mean?" asked Belle hesitantly.

"You would never be able to leave. Once you start working there, you are bound by a contract to stay within the castle's boundaries. It's their way of making sure that no one outside of the castle knows it's ins and outs. Prevents gossip from circulating."

"So, I could never see my father again," murmured Belle.

"Yes," replied D'Arque. "Unless you were dismissed, which in your case would only lead to your father's imprisonment."

"Belle, I won't let you do this!"

Belle turned towards the direction of her father's voice. He was listening through the bars of the carriage.

"Papa," sighed Belle as she came closer to the window and grabbed her father's hand through the metal bars. "This is the only way. It'll be fine. I'll be in a castle-"

"With a Beast!" protested Maurice. "Belle, I will not let you throw your life away for me."

"I love you Papa," whispered Belle before kissing her father's hand with all the tenderness she could muster before letting go and saying "but this is my choice. It won't be forever. Just until our debt is paid. Then I promise I will return."

"Belle, no!" shouted Maurice as he watched his only daughter approach D'Arque once more.

"You will release my father and take me to the Prince's castle."

"Very well," replied D'Arque. "We shall ride immediately. Only once I have delivered you to the castle and safely returned will I let my men will let your father go."

Belle did not mistake the steel in his voice. He didn't want any tricks or sudden acts of deceit.

"I understand," replied Belle before following him towards his black horse, ignoring her father's protests.

"Are you sure?" asked D'Arque, stopping once more to look at Belle just before he climbed upon his horse. "The Prince is rumoured to be quite-"

"I am sure," replied Belle firmly as she took hold of D'Arque's hand and pulled herself up onto his horse.

The collector said nothing in response before merely took hold of the reins of his horse.

"Just ride," whispered Belle as she stared into the night and the cobbled road ahead, leading out into the forest. Trying to block out her father's pleading voice, she let her tears run down her face, thankful that they would be indistinguishable from the unforgiving rain which continued to pelt down on them.

"Forgive me Papa."

She did not dare to let herself look back.

…..

Far away, across the other side of the dense forest in a towering castle, a young man was staring a large portrait of a man, woman and child. Smiling in an almost slightly unhinged manner, he lazily turned the dagger he had in his hand over and over.

"Sir."

The Prince sighed dejectedly before turning to face his advisor, who was standing gingerly by the door, hidden in shadow.

"What is it," he slurred.

"Your Highness, we have news from Paris."

"And?" replied the Prince, turning back towards the portrait which weirdly seemed to hold his interest.

"It's your father, sir," said Cogsworth, staring wearily at the dagger in the Prince's hand, which continued to turn in a methodical manner.

"Is he still complaining that I haven't chosen a bride?"

"No sir."

"Is he worried yet _again_ that I might've sired a bastard?"

"No, sir-"

"Then what is it Cogsworth, spit it out!" bellowed the Prince, turning to glare at Cogsworth, his blue eyes strikingly cold and almost inhuman.

"He's dead."

Cogsworth had not meant to have announced the news in such a manner, but the Prince intimidated him to such a degree that he had had no choice.

The Prince simply stared at the old man, his expression completely nebulous, almost devoid of emotion. The jewelled knife in his hand glittered dangerously in the candlelight.

"Is that so," replied the Prince before turning slowly away from his advisor to stare at the painting once more. Cogsworth let out a sigh of relief.

"A funeral will have to be arranged, and his body will be brought back-"

"No."

Once again, the Prince interrupted him, his voice flat, sounding almost disinterested.

"Sir?"

"Let them conduct the ceremony in Paris. I will not attend."

Cogsworth's eyes widened in astonishment. He knew the young Prince to have shown certain disdain towards his father, but he did not imagine that it was to this degree. This was pure cold heartedness.

"But sir!" he couldn't help but exclaim.

"Is it written somewhere that if I do not attend then I will not inherit his fortune?"

"No, sir but socially-"

"Then I do not see the problem," replied the Prince lightly as he turned to face Cogsworth once more. Seeing his advisor's astonished face, he smirked in response. His obvious shock only seemed to please the Prince even more.

"I am richer and more powerful than any of those so called 'Dukes' in Paris. They wouldn't dare appose me or question my actions. They know perfectly well how much my father and I hated each other. Who knows, perhaps he would be happy to know that I stayed away from his funeral. Heaven knows he was glad that I stayed away from him while he was alive."

Cogsworth could say nothing in response, only gap the young Master.

"Do it, Cogsworth," continued the Prince, his humourless smile disappearing, replaced by an indifferent stare, his blue eyes almost lifeless. "Just get it over and done with."

"Right, of course sir," stammered Cogsworth, hardly believing his ears as he closed the door and proceeded to walk away from the West Wing.

As he turned to walk down the grand staircase, he suddenly heard an excruciatingly loud sound that forced him to stop in his tracks. Something which could only be described as that of a wounded animal roared at the top of its lungs echoed off the walls of the castle. As Cogsworth stood frozen on the spot, the marble floor beneath him seemed to vibrate in response to something being smashed onto the floor.

The Prince's advisor turned to stare down the dark corridor, where the West Wing's doors remained firmly shut. It was only a moment later that he realized that the sound had not been that of a creature, but of the Prince.

Cogsworth sighed and shook his head before walking down the steps.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Thank you so much for all the responses, especially the reviews! I wasn't expecting this big a reaction from a single chapter but I am so glad that it's being received so well! Hence, I am writing much quicker than usual (although this is probably slower by a lot of your standards haha), since I don't want to keep you all in suspense. I can only hope that I somehow meet your expectations. The only thing I will say is that this will be a slow burner and the rating may change from T to M, should it get any darker. As for the period, since the original story was published in 1740, and the 2017 film follows the 'Rocco' design, I'd say this story is also set around this time. It is long before the French Revolution, so while there is unrest, that will not come into the equation. Marie Antoinette is not even born yet! Anyway, in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please continue to follow and review as this really helps me speed forward. Happy reading everyone!

Chapter 2

"I wouldn't consider that as an option if I were you."

Belle swerved her head to look back at D'Arque, who had followed her gaze towards the muddy lane they had just come travelling down.

"I wasn't," said Belle, trying to keep her voice as level as possible.

"There are wolves in this forest young lady," sighed D'Arque as he leaped off his horse to join Belle on the ground. "You wouldn't want one of your pretty little legs to be ripped off while trying to escape."

"So, it's a fortress then," murmured Belle flatly, this time looking up towards the towering black gates which stood before them, two gargoyles supporting the metal cage from either side. Beyond lay the castle grounds but it was too dark to make anything out clearly. Only shadows of the castle and occasional glimmering specks of light through its crystal windows could be seen. It was hard to get a proper look of the place as it had a rather peculiar sense of structure, unlike anything Belle had ever seen, not even in her books. On one hand, it was beautiful and mysterious with various turrets sticking out in unconventional angles. Only the other hand, if Belle didn't know any better, she would have said that it almost looked a little grotesque. It was not exactly what she had imagined the place to look like, based on people's descriptions of the lord who 'ruled' over their land.

As D'Arque and Belle approached the gates, Belle also noted that, overall, she found the place to be disturbing but she couldn't quite put her finger on exactly why. It seemed otherworldly.

Magical almost, and all that entailed with such a description.

As she stood transfixed, staring at the castle that was possibly going to become her new home, Belle was completely unaware of the fact that two guards had approached the gate, seemingly coming out of nowhere. At the sound of D'Arque speaking however, Belle flinched and diverted her gaze back to level ground, where two guardsmen seemed to be peering at her through the gates in curiosity. It was more than a little unnerving.

"Bring the torch closer," said the taller of the two, their faces obscured by the metal helmets they wore. The other reacted to this by bringing the said torch in his hand closer to Belle's face.

The heat from the burning fire was almost unbearable, too stark a contrast to the cold, wet rain which had finally receded just as Belle and D'Arque arrived at the gates of the castle.

"She's quite pretty," said the short guard, still holding the burning torch way too close to Belle's face. "If you like brunettes that is."

"Have you brought her here as a candidate for the scullery maid job?"

"Yes," replied D'Arque before Belle had a chance to speak.

"Uh huh," said the taller one. "Rumour has it they chucked the last one because the Prince had gotten rid of his red-headed mistress and the poor girl mending the fires reminded him too much of her. She was a red-head."

Belle, unable to form a response, simply gaped at the young guard, who didn't seem to find anything amiss with the piece of information he was revealing.

"Except this one isn't a redhead," stated D'Arque simply, who seemed completely unfazed by the conversation.

"No," replied the taller guard. "So, I can let you through at least here. Doesn't mean that you'll get the job, but we'll take you through to Monsieur Cogsworth all the same and-"

"You mean that _I'll_ be taking the girl to Monsieur Cogsworth," interrupted the shorter, slightly older man.

"Could you just hurry up and open the gates please," said D'Arque in a bored voice, clearly not interested in the politics of who was going to bring them inside the castle. "I don't have all night to do this. I have a family to go home to."

At the mention of home, Belle felt her body stiffen, reminded suddenly of the huge ramifications that came with what she was about to do, something she had been desperately trying to repress until that point.

"Alright then," said the taller guard in a slightly offended manner before marching towards the pillar on the right-hand side and pulling down a thick rope with both hands, forcing the gates to slowly open, it's metal hinges creaking nosily as they moved.

"This way please, don't worry about your horse Monsieur D'Arque, you may leave it here. My colleague will take good care of it."

"My colleague," scoffed the taller guard in a rather conspicuous manner, but he took hold of the horse's reins all the same and led the creature through the gates just as Belle and D'Arque followed the other guard towards the castle.

"You won't find any ravenous wolves once you're safe inside here," said the lone guardsman as the trio trekked down the gravel path, it's texture causing a rather noisy, crunching sound effect. "We try our best to hunt them all down and control their numbers as best as possible."

"You mean the _villagers_ who hunt them down," interjected Belle, her voice clearly disapproving. "The brave men who, under the so-called law, must go out every fortnight, against their will, and slaughter these wolves, even though their villages don't have any form of defence barriers of their own."

"Er," stammered the guardsman, unable to form a coherent answer. "I suppose so."

D'Arque sighed at the guard's obvious stupidity, something he was in fact a little thankful for. Nevertheless, he proceeded to look down at the young lady next to him in the same disapproving manner she had been looking at the guard.

"Mademoiselle, you must take better care over what you say. In the village, you could have gotten away with your silly little outbursts by merely being ridiculed and mocked at. But you are about to enter a very different world, a world where such behaviour is not only looked down upon, but is also seen as treason. Do you get my meaning?"

"Yes," replied Belle, not sparing D'Arque a glance. "I'm just correcting the gentlemen. It is not the Prince's staff who protect him from the wolves. It is the villagers that surround his fortress that do so, that is all I was pointing out."

D'Arque simply shook his head. The girl may be clever and intelligent, but that would not do her any good in her new station. She had to be clever, but in a different kind of way. Unfortunately, he was beginning to think that she did not have the capacity to do so.

"Here we are," said the simple-minded guardsman as they approached the castle. They had come so close to it at this point that it was nearly impossible to see the highest turrets, it's overall height being what it was. As they passed through the gardens which seemed to have an abundance of white roses, something which Belle wondered whether the aristocratic family had an affiliation with, they found themselves in front of a large, grand staircase which led up to what looked like the main entrance.

The guardsmen, noticing that Belle was staring at the front of the castle in awe, merely shook his head in amusement before steering her away from it.

"Not that way missus, that's only for the guests and His Highness," said the guard with a sigh as Belle glared at him in alarm, astonished that she was suddenly being manhandled.

"I can walk by myself, thank you," she said gruffly, loosening the guard's grip from her arms.

"Oh, feisty little thing, aren't you?" replied the guard light-heartedly, immediately releasing her. "I'm just making sure that we don't get caught, that's all. Strictly speaking we should have come through the other way, but it takes ages going around this place."

"So where exactly is it that you are taking us then?" asked D'Arque, starting to get a little concerned.

"Not long now, monsieur, I assure you," replied the guard hastily, increasing his pace as they turned a corner and walked left, completely passing by the main entrance. "We're going through the side, into the kitchens. There's a hidden door, just through here."

Belle glanced at D'Arque, who, in response, merely shook his shoulders indifferently.

"Ah, here we are," said the guard, his voice giving away signs of exhaustion. "Finally."

The toad-like man then proceeded to knock on the side of an unassuming wall. It was pitch black, and there were no indications to suggest that there was even a door there.

For a moment, the trio merely stood in silence, waiting for a response. When none came, D'Arque started to raise his eyebrows.

"Just one more time," said the guard half-heartedly, proceeding to knock once more on the castle wall.

Further silence ensued.

"Look," sighed D'Arque, lifting his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, "is this some kind of joke or- "

Suddenly there came the sound of something breaking apart, and before any of them could react, they were greeted by a blinding light coming from the exact place where the guardsman had just knocked on the wall.

"Oh my," said a shrilly voice.

Having spent so long in the dark, Belle could hardly open her eyes, so she couldn't see who it was that was speaking. However, what was at least clear was that there was indeed a secret door, and somebody had just opened it, much to Belle and D'Arque's surprise.

"Louis, who are these people?"

"They're here about the job Plumette," said the guardsman. "Can we come in, even if just for a second? I'm freezing my butt off out here."

"I suppose, but not long," said the woman cautiously, whom Belle, who had finally managed to open her eyes, could see was a beautiful young lady. She was wearing an outlandishly beautiful pearl-white frock.

"Great," said the guard, whose name Belle knew now to be Louis, before leading them inside. "How's things going down here?"

"Oh, the usual, of course," said Plumette nonchalantly, leading them through a passageway which lead to what looked like the kitchens. "You were lucky that I was here to hear you. Usually we're so busy that nobody has time to take a break and rest."

Belle gasped in response as they entered a large area, presumably the kitchens, if it could even be described as that. The floor place was so huge, bigger than even the whole of Villeneuve's local tavern. Belle couldn't help before let her jaw drop as she observed the spectacle that lay before her.

Waiters rushing to and fro, carrying god knows how many plates, numerous scullery maids washing dishes by the basin, the humongous stove, or rather, furnace, burning so brightly that Belle could feel it's heat even though she was standing several metres away. The cooking staff were busy preparing dishes, too many to count, and the whole room was teeming with the smells of all kinds of different food, some of which Belle didn't even recognise or know what to call.

"The kitchen," said Plumette simply before walking on, trying to side step the staff and avoid bumping into them. "Which was where Colette apparently worked most of the time."

"Most of time?" asked D'Arque as they followed her through yet another passageway, but Plumette never answered his question as she turned around and proceeded to frown.

"Er, Louis?"

"Yes, Plumette," said Louis eagerly, who was walking behind D'Arque and Belle.

"You can wait in the kitchens, you don't have to follow us through here," said Plumette before giving a polite smile.

"Oh," said Louis, his shoulders immediately sagging. "Alright, I'll just go back then I suppose…"

Plumette did not even wait for a response, turning away swiftly and proceeding to walk speedily down the corridor, leaving the chaotic noise of the kitchen behind.

"I think he is trying to 'romance' me, even though I have told him again and again that I gave my heart away a long time ago to my beloved Lu-"

"Madame, who are you exactly?" asked D'Arque impatiently. Clearly, he didn't really want to stick around much longer and wanted to get the business over and down with.

"I am Plumette, Head Housemaid at this castle," said the young lady coyly before giving a quick curtsy. "I have nothing to do with the open job position of course. You would be down in the kitchens for that particular position."

Belle frowned at the way Plumette described the position of a scullery maid. Clearly working for this establishment meant that everyone had their own rank and station within the so-called hierarchy. Belle sighed. Not much different to the village at home then.

Hardly surprising, thought Belle as they entered out into another landing, where a narrow golden spiral staircase stood, leading no doubt to the ground floor above.

"Just wait here please," said Plumette before disappearing up the steps.

D'Arque turned to look critically at Belle, keen to give her advice while there was still time. If she was offered the job, it was most likely that there would never be another chance to speak with her.

"Now mademoiselle, listen to me carefully. There is to be no negative talk about the Prince or his methods. The same goes for the way that things are run here. You must learn quickly and be careful not to fall behind. Do you understand?"

"How long will it take till my father's debts are fully paid?" asked Belle, her gaze sombre.

D'Arque stared at her nebulously before turning away.

"That I cannot say," he replied with difficulty. "It depends on how well you do here. As a scullery maid, it will perhaps take a lifetime, but should you be successful and rise in rank, it will probably take a lot less time."

Belle nodded in understanding, finally realizing why he had been so adamant that she behave the way they expected her to. It wasn't just about not losing this job. It was also about making sure that she didn't have to stay here forever.

Hearing Plumette's footsteps again, D'Arque turning to look at Belle once more.

"You will do well I am sure. You can, of course, always write to your father as much as you like."

"Mademoiselle? If you could please follow me, Monsieur Cogsworth is waiting for you in his office upstairs. Monsieur D'Arque, you may wait here."

"Good luck," muttered D'Arque, to which Belle replied with a curt nod and tight smile.

Before following Plumette up the stairs, she turned to give D'Arque one last look. She did not really know why this man had helped her, but all the same, she was grateful that he did.

"Thank you," she said, before turning away.

As she climbed the steps, she noticed that she was starting to feel nervous, something she hadn't anticipated, and that her hands were becoming clammy.

…..

The Prince stared at the portrait of his father, the candlelight flickering almost mockingly over it, as if daring the young man to stare even longer and try and discern the expression behind his father's motionless eyes.

"Imbecile," muttered the Prince before taking a swing of the blood-like liquid in his crystal glass.

A light knock came at the door.

"Who is it?"

"Lumiere, Your Highness," came a melodious and yet distinctly masculine voice.

"Come in," sighed the Prince as he walked away from the portrait and lay down on the scarlet divan, feeling surprising lenient. It was probably down to the wine.

"My prince," said Lumiere, entering the West Wing before giving a flourishing bow.

"Yes, yes, alright," grumbled the Prince, waving his hand. "What is it?"

"I wanted to confirm with you the guests that will be coming next week Your Highness-"

"Do we have to do this right now Lumiere?" replied the Prince with an alcohol infused voice before yawning like a fatigued lion.

"I'm afraid so, given the short notice sir," replied Lumiere hastily. "All ladies of gentle breeding-"

"Perhaps some that are not _too_ gentle please, I don't want them to be scared easily like the previous disaster-"

"Madame Valois, yes, I am sorry about that-"

"Visibly speaking, she was perfect. Beautiful auburn hair," muttered the Prince, but he sounded almost completely disenchanted as he drank the remainder of the wine in his glass. "But that voice of hers. I felt like scratching my ears off half the time. Perhaps it would have pleased her if I'd been deaf."

"Yes," replied Lumiere hastily, noting that the Prince's voice was becoming harder by the minute.

Suddenly the Prince sprang up, moving so fluidly towards Lumiere that it proved too sharp a contrast to the languid state he had been in before, leaving the poor maître'd no time to react. Before he knew it, the Prince stood towering over him with his hand gripped tightly over his collar so that he could scarcely breath.

"What did you just say?" said the Prince hoarsely, his merciless eyes narrowing.

"Nothing," replied Lumiere. "Only that I shall not make the same mistake again."

After a punishing moment of silence, the Prince roughly released Lumiere and strutted back to where he had been sitting before.

Lumiere sighed in relief, but not too loud, fearful that the master might hear him and then proceed to fire him on the spot.

"Just make sure that they aren't silly Lumiere," said the Prince languidly as he sat down once more, his dark silk cloak billowing about him as he did so. "But not too intelligent either. You know how I hate it when they have endless opinions on everything and won't shut up when I tell them to."

"Of course, master," replied Lumiere. "I will make sure that they will meet all your standards this time."

With a swift bow, Lumiere turned to leave the room, but froze as his gaze fell on the portrait of the Prince's late father. For right where his heart should have been, was a dagger, which appeared to have been stabbed through the canvas with considerable force, leaving it firmly lodged in place.

Lumiere felt his eyes widen and this time he swore that he really did stop breathing.

"What is it Lumiere?" growled the Prince, seeming to know that Lumiere was still there, even though he did not even turn his head to look.

Lumiere could swear that the master had the hearing capabilities of a wolf.

"Nothing, Your Highness," said Lumiere swiftly before continuing to walk towards the door. "Goodnight, sir."

…..

Belle gingerly entered a panelled room of dark green, with a large writing desk in middle, behind which, sat a large, plump man in a red velvet waistcoat, staring down at what appeared to be several long lists of parchment paper. As to what they pertained, Belle did not know, nor did she really want to know, given that they seemed to be extremely tedious.

Hearing Plumette close the door behind her, Belle turned to look at it, just as Cogsworth lifted his gaze to see a brown-haired young lady standing by his office doorway.

"Ah," said Cogsworth brightly. "So, you must be the girl that Monsieur D'Arque brought with him."

"Yes, Monsieur," said Belle, giving a polite curtsy before rising steadily.

"I assume that your family is in debt," said Cogsworth, looking at the papers before him once more.

"Yes, sir, that is correct," replied Belle uneasily, feeling her body start to fidget. How on earth had he known that? Perhaps there were many people in a similar situation to her working here…

"Come closer," said the elderly man without looking up. He was opening one of his drawers, and as Belle did as she was asked and approached the desk, she saw that what he withdrew from it was a large magnifying glass.

"Monsieur-" began Belle hastily, but Cogsworth interrupted her immediately.

"Do not speak young lady, please, just sit down in the chair in front of you. Yes, that's it."

As Belle sat down and Cogsworth proceeded to look at her through his ornate magnifying glass, she felt a little silly, being examined in such a manner. What did her looks have to do with whether she did a sufficient job or not? Was the Prince really that vain? Besides, he wasn't exactly going to notice her was he, if she was going to be a scullery maid?

"Hmm," said Cogsworth before putting down the magnifying glass. "Not outstanding, but you shall do. Blonde would have been better."

Belle rolled her eyes. What was it with men and blondes?

"I saw that," said Cogsworth, causing Belle to look up at him in horror, but he merely smiled at her kindly, his eyes crinkling warmheartedly. Belle felt her shoulders sag. This surprised her. She didn't realize that she had been so tense.

"Colette, the young girl who had the position before you, was both a scullery maid and a between maid."

Noting Belle's confused expression, Cogsworth explained.

"She worked in the kitchens most of the time, but occasionally she would help by bringing things up to the Head Housekeeper during peak times, such as dinner. Which meant she would be seen by those upstairs, however briefly. You, on the other hand, seem to have no experience in this area so, for now, you shall work solely in the kitchens. Should you perform well, however, your station may change, so work hard and perhaps your father's fortune will change."

Belle could merely nod her head in response. The man may have seemed generous, but she could tell that he was an impeccably organized person and strict as well. She saw the glimmer of a waist pocket watch, which she could instantly imagine him staring at several times at minute.

"Well, mademoiselle," sighed Cogsworth, smoothing his moustache. "That should be all for now. My name is Monsieur Cogsworth. I am Head of the Household."

Before Belle could respond, the door behind opened with a sudden jerk and a rather flamboyant looking man came strolling in, his coat shining with gold. Belle had never seen so much gold embroidered on a single garment in all her life.

"Oh," said Lumiere, stopping still, completely unaware that Cogsworth had been in the process of interview. "I'm sorry. I did not know that you were talking to a beautiful young lady Cogsworth."

"I was conducting an interview," said Cogsworth gruffly, his kind-hearted persona instantly gone. "Which you have now just ruined."

"Oh, for that I am sorry," said Lumiere, not sounding sorry at all as he turned to smile at Belle and lift her hand. "Enchante, mademoiselle."

"This is Lumiere," grumbled Cogsworth as the handsome man kissed Belle's hand, winking at her rather elegantly through the process.

"That's enough of that," snapped Cogsworth before steering Belle gently towards the door. Belle shrugged her shoulders incredulously in response and couldn't help but laugh slightly. There seemed to be a lot of manhandling going on at this castle. "Plumette will now show you to your room."

Plumette stood just outside the door, and, upon seeing Lumiere come out, proceeded to bat her eyes prettily and smile coyly at him.

"Lumiere, will you be busy later this evening?"

"I don't know ma Cherie, but-"

Cogsworth coughed loudly, diverting the couple's attention back to the matter at hand.

"Plumette," said Cogsworth, gesturing her to show Belle downstairs.

"Of course," replied the Head Housemaid with resignation before giving Lumiere one last, longing stare. "Later, my love."

Belle smirked as she witnessed their exchange, before Plumette suddenly took hold of her hand and pulled her down the long winding staircase they had just come up.

As they approached the landing, instead of going left the way they had come, they went the opposite direction, to the right, where the hallway seemed to continue again.

"Well done, mademoiselle," said Plumette, giving Belle what she recognised to be a genuine smile. "You have done very well so far. Hopefully you will not have to remain a scullery maid for long. I'm sure that you will progress quickly. Ah, here we are."

They stopped by a door with the number five written on it.

"This will be your room," said Plumette. "Luckily the castle is so large that the staff can afford to have their own bedrooms, even the scullery maids! This is extremely rare you know."

"I see," said Belle as she entered the otherwise rather plain looking bedroom. Inside was a narrow bed, bedside table with a candleholder and simple chest of drawers. There was also a small window, through which moonlight now shone through; the sky seemingly completely clear, as there hadn't been a storm brewing a mere hour ago.

"You will find everything you need in the chest," said Plumette brightly before turning around to walk out. "Good luck. I shall come to wake you up at five o'clock sharp. Not that you won't wake up before then. You are so close to the kitchens that you will probably wake up merely by all the noise the people in there make. Good night!"

"Goodnight," replied Belle as the door closed and the room instantly filled with darkness. As she sat down slowly on the small bed, she thought about Papa and what he was doing. No doubt D'Arque would be on his way back, and he would release her father. This, at least, gave her some form of comfort. It was the only thing she was certain about.

D'Arque was right however. She had to work hard. In order to pay off her father's debts.

"In order to get out of here," whispered Belle to herself as she lay down on the bed, not bothering to change her clothes as it was so cold and she was too tired.

As she closed her eyes, she felt them begin to well up with tears.

She had to be strong.

She had to be strong and survive so that she could see papa again, go back to the simple, provincial life that she had once ridiculed.

Strange.

Now, compared to this foreign, unfamiliar place, it seemed like paradise.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: Thank you for all your detailed reviews and support! It means so much to me and helps me push on! I'm amazed by the response to it and really psyched about developing this story further. You'll have to forgive me about this chapter, but I did warn you all about what kind of story this is… But I promise you all that the next chapter is going to be very explosive, tying into the film itself…. Happy reading everyone!

Chapter 3

Maurice sat in the carriage, if it could even be called that, thinking about his poor daughter and the mess he had inadvertently led her into.

If he'd managed to sell that musical box to the lady today at market would that have saved Belle?

Who knew?

Well, now he would never know. She was gone, and it was more than possible that he would never see his precious little girl ever again.

The heartbroken father sank to his knees even further and put his head in his hands as he heard the storm outside start to recede and turn into drizzle.

His daughter may have been optimistic but Maurice knew perfectly well that Belle couldn't possibly pay off all their debts by merely working as a maid at the aristocrat's castle. He knew how such places worked. There was no way of getting out of the establishment's web once one entered it.

Unless, of course, they were exceptionally brave. Maurice smiled wistfully as his thoughts drifted to that of his late wife. She had been fearless…. Braver than him in so many respects.

Part of him wished that Belle had turned out more like him, more cautious. If only she was not like her mother, fearless, walking right into the flames.

Maurice shut his eyes tightly and grinded his teeth in anguish before turning his head to look up outside the barred window. The stormy sky had finally cleared and the moon had crept out from behind the clouds, it's mystic light glowing and spreading out onto the tiled rooftop of the cottage which Maurice called home. He could see that the stove was still burning inside. He had spent many of the best days of his life in that insignificant cottage, with the only person that mattered to him, the reason why he had risked everything and moved to this provincial village.

He felt his smile disappear as he continued to stare at his home. Soon it would no longer be anything. Without Belle, it would simply turn into a hollow place filled with ghosts of the past.

"This is too cruel. Was this how my life was always meant to go? Was I always meant to suffer the loss of not one, but two people I love?"

As Maurice whispered this to himself, he failed to hear the approach of a lone horseman, who, stopping right by the carriage, hastily stepped down and gestured the guards standing by the backdoors to open them quickly.

He could see vaguely that there was an exhausted old man inside, who sat slumped over, staring directly down at the wooden floor in defeat.

As the doors jerked open, Maurice sat up slowly, peering out to see D'Arque standing out in the light rain with his arms folded. His appearance was slightly dishevelled, but apart from that, he looked virtually the same, making it hard for Maurice to imagine that he had actually went all the way to the castle and back, even if it had taken him the better part of the whole evening and most of the night.

"Is Belle-" rasped Maurice but D'Arque silenced him by slowly lifting his hand.

"Do not worry about your daughter. She is safe, and has successfully gotten the position, working as a scullery maid at the castle."

"You call that a success?" scorned Maurice, refusing to move from his position, even though the guards gestured for him to come outside.

"Maurice," sighed D'Arque. "I wouldn't have suggested it to your daughter unless I was sure that she would do well there and progress quickly beyond that of a scullery maid. She is intelligent and will manage to pay off your debts much quicker than you could've managed, labouring away in the debtor's prison."

"You just wanted to see her taken away from this village because the narrow-minded who live here see her as an embarrassment!" retorted Maurice, his voice rising as he slowly moved towards D'Arque.

"That is not true Maurice and you know it," muttered D'Arque tiredly in reply, as he adjusted his hat as if the conversation were over.

"What's done is done. You are free to go home."

"I don't want to go home!" yelled Maurice, grasping hold of the sides of the carriage firmly with both hands. "I want my daughter back! Bring her back right now and take me to the debtor's prison. Why did you even suggest such a suicidal idea to Belle in the first place? You as good as sold her to that horrible-"

D'Arque stared at Maurice, as if contemplating on what to tell the painter. After a long pause, during which he listened to the distressed man, he finally interjected.

"I have my reasons," he said in a low, controlled voice.

"What reasons?" asked Maurice pointedly, his gaze unwavering.

In response, D'Arque merely turned away and instead spoke to his guards.

"Make sure he is taken back to his cottage. Use force, if necessary. Goodbye Maurice. We shall be in touch. You will receive correspondence from Monsieur Cogsworth, Head of the Household, and Belle herself very soon."

Without a second glance, D'Arque quit the place, leaving Maurice with the two guards, who proceeded to pull him out of the carriage, ignoring his protests as they dragged him to the cottage, leaving him at the front door, where Maurice collapsed into a heap.

"Forgive me, Belle. I let D'Arque take you away. Forgive me," he whispered before slumping against the door, utterly exhausted, having waited, half in hope, for the slight chance that the castle had refused to take Belle in.

His daughter was someone whose mind was a vast, she was a dreamer but in the true sense of the word, and therefore deserved to live a life where she could do as she pleased, and be allowed to dream in peace. He knew that working in such a place as the castle would be soul destroying for a girl like Belle. She would turn hard and cold, become disillusioned with life.

And that was the one thing he could not bear to see happen to his only daughter. It was for that very reason that he had to get her out of there. Somehow. He had to find a way.

….

"I must say, she is very, very pretty. Easily one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, and that includes all the ladies I've seen upstairs!"

"Really? I suppose she is… She would look prettier if she were less-"

"Less what?"

"Oh, you know, thoughtful. She always looks like she's thinking about something, perhaps a bit too hard and therefore frowning or seeming….. occupied. If she were more feminine, more dainty perhaps-"

"Well, I'm glad she's not, because if she were, she wouldn't last two days here!"

"Yes, I suppose you're right," sighed Louis, leaning off the brick wall and sticking his head out of the kitchens to take one last look at their latest recruit, who was squatting down on the floor next to the secret entranceway, scrubbing pots which she had been washing earlier that morning. She had her hair tied up so he could see her clearly.

She wasn't that sort of traditional beauty that was fashionable; she was no French rose that's for sure, but she had a rather striking look, a look of intelligence about her which was strangely attractive. Perhaps there was also something foreign about it, even improper perhaps for current society.

Not that Louis picked up on any of this. However, he did observe that she looked almost elegant, which was weird, since she was wearing a simple grey dress with water stains, occasionally blowing away a stray lock of hair from her face as she nosily scrubbed the pot on the floor.

"She's slow, but she'll get quicker soon enough," said Mrs Potts. "After observing her all morning I've concluded that, much to my surprise, she is a lot more diligent than I had expected from a village girl with no previous experience."

"She's working as a scullery maid," scoffed Louis, turning back to look at Mrs Potts in dismay. "The lowest of the low. You don't need any experience for that."

"If it's so easy then would you like to take her place instead?" asked Mrs Potts, narrowing her eyes. Under her stern gaze, Louis immediately stood up straighter and turned to head out of the kitchen.

"Of course not," he replied with a quick sniff before disappearing out into the hallway.

Mrs Potts shook her head and smiled in amusement before heading out as well, taking one careful look at the girl, who remained focused on her task and did not even look up to see that Mrs Potts was there.

The head housekeeper sighed sadly as she stared at the girl. She knew exactly what was happening to the poor child because she had seen the same process again and again with each new maid who came to the castle. By keeping busy, by remaining focused on the work, they would have less time to feel the pain of being away from their loved ones, the loneliness that can came with moving away from home. They could forget, if they were focused on something entirely else. From what Cogsworth had told her, she knew that the young lady was an only child from Villeneuve, and her family consisted of just her father.

"Is everything okay Belle?" asked Mrs Potts as she came nearer to the girl, who immediately stopped scrubbing and looked up in surprise.

"Oh, yes, madam, everything is fine!" she replied brightly, her hands gripping around the brass pot she had been cleaning tightly.

"Mrs Potts, dear, Mrs Potts! Nobody calls me madam. Everyone is equal here, at least in my kitchen. The first couple of weeks are the toughest, so if there is anything you need, anything you want to talk about, then you just let me know, okay? I'm always here to support you through this difficult time, especially given your special circumstances."

"Oh," stammered Belle, unable to form a coherent reply. She simply stared at Mrs Potts, who stood looking down her with a kind smile of her face, her eyes full of tenderness. She hadn't expected the Head Housekeeper to be so kind. In the morning, despite all the hustle and bustle going on, she had very kindly explained to her how everything was run, and although Belle had made plenty of mistakes and asked her to repeat things, she did seem to get angry or impatient at any point. She was extremely maternal and generous, which Belle felt very moved by.

Rudeness, impoliteness, these were things that she could easily deal with. But in her current state of unease and vulnerability, kindness felt like a stab in the heart. She could feel her eyes beginning to tear up.

"Well, thank you for your kind words and concern. I will take them into consideration but I'm sure I'll be fine," she replied, perhaps a little too curtly than she really would have liked, before bending her head and continuing to scrub the remainder of the pot.

"Of course, dear," replied Mrs Potts warmly, not blaming Belle in the least for not knowing how to react or seeming to give a rather cold response. "I need to speak with Monsieur Cogsworth for a moment, but when we return, now that the kitchens have quietened down a bit, I'll show you how to mop the floors."

Leaving Belle, Mrs Potts turned to walk back the way she came and slowly climb the spiral staircase, fully aware that the girl was probably now crying into the brass pot she had desperately been using to scrub away her feelings of sorrow.

"Better out than in my dear," whispered Mrs Potts sadly as she ascended the steps and got to the upper landing, the portrait gallery where the maids were dusting away cobwebs as usual.

As Mrs Potts made her way down the gallery, she began to cough in reaction to all the dust in the air. She swiftly turned towards one of the girls wiping a flower pot by one of the portraits that were hung up on the wall.

"My dear, where is Plumette? Did she not instruct you to open the windows and let in some air, as one should always do while doing this particular activity?"

The girl gasped in response before scampering away to open the windows.

"Thank you, Mrs Potts," said the maid as the other girls noticed too and proceeded to do the same and open all the windows. "I completely forgot! Plumette would have been absolutely outraged if you hadn't just pointed this out to me!"

"Make sure that you do not forget to open the windows next time," said Mrs Potts with a chuckle before opening the door to Cogworth's office, where the man himself and Lumiere were in the middle of a heated argument, a sight that was, sorry to say, not at all uncommon.

"What is it this time?" sighed Mrs Potts as she closed the door behind her and sat down slowly next to Lumiere who, again in some sort of golden apparatus, was glaring at Cogsworth.

"I was explaining to Lumiere, that I wasn't sure that this girl D'Arque has sent us is entirely adequate," said Cogsworth, looking down, rather obviously, to look at his pocket watch.

"What do you mean 'adequate'?" scoffed Lumiere, folding his arms. "You accepted her last night for the position!"

Mrs Potts turned to look at Cogsworth, who had a genuinely concerned expression on his face, not that of a snobbish man who was simply turning away an unsuitable candidate.

"What is exactly the problem Cogsworth?"

"It's not a problem exactly," grumbled the old man, twiddling his thumbs. "It's more of a complication."

"Is this to do with the master? About his father's death?" asked Mrs Potts, a lot more observant than Lumiere. She understood how hard it was for Cogsworth to let women, especially young women, into the household. She knew why he did it of course, he saw it as his moral duty, given his background, but she saw that he was constantly at war with himself, as a result, whenever he 'rescued' one of them from debtor's prison.

And it was with good reason.

"What are you talking about? What has the master got to do with any of this?" asked Lumiere, frowning as he turned to look at Mrs Potts, who merely sighed in response.

Cogsworth begrudgingly looked up at the clear-mined lady in front of him before speaking more.

"Yes, you are correct. It is the master that I am worried about. I have observed that he has been rather unstable recently-"

"More than usual?" asked Mrs Potts carefully.

"Well, it's hard to say, but yes, I think so. His reaction to his father's death has been troubling, to say the least, and this grand party he wants only fuels my suspicions that-"

"But I thought the master did not care for his father! They hardly met after his education was finished, and as far as we could tell, they hated each other!"

"Oh, that is complete nonsense," replied Mrs Potts with a frown. "His father may have been a cold and cruel person, but he was still his father. Now he has nobody, and the way he was brought up has left him isolated and unable to form any real connections with people-

"You better not say that in front of him," replied Cogsworth worriedly. "The last thing we want is for him to start firing people on the spot. Best to just give him what he wants."

"But a party, the day after his father's funeral," sighed Mrs Potts as she shook her head in disbelief. "I don't understand it. He could at least attend the funeral, out of respect."

"Except the master never really had any form of respect for his father, so do we really have any right to be surprised?" said Lumiere with a shrug before leaning back into his armchair.

"But this still doesn't explain why you are concerned about Belle, Cogsworth," continued Mrs Potts, leaning forward, the exact opposite to Lumiere and his far too relaxed posture.

"You know how he has had dalliances in the past with some maids," whispered Cogsworth, sweat starting to appear on his brow. "Most of the time, they have been harmless, meaningless, and I merely sent the maids to other forms of employment. They never complained as such, in fact some even reported that they enjoyed the master's attentions and-"

Mrs Potts gave a surprisingly disgruntled noise before asking Cogsworth to get to the point.

"Right now however," continued the Head of the Household, "I fear that he is in a rather dangerous state where he might take advantage of those around him. He is becoming increasingly volatile. I'm not saying that the master would force himself on -"

"The Prince is not _that_ much of a brute," replied Mrs Potts curtly, her voice cold. "I know that deep down the boy has a heart. I've seen with my own eyes, long ago."

"Yes, well, I'm afraid you are the only person in this entire castle who holds such an opinion," said Lumiere, smiling sadly at his optimistic friend. "Whatever hope there was for our dear master is long gone."

"For the time being therefore," continued Cogsworth, meaning to get to the point, "I think it best to keep the young lady working in the kitchens, even if you think that she could easily progress further. That is the best scenario I can think for her, aside from sending her somewhere else."

"But her family is Villeneuve," stated Lumiere, lifting his hands in the air. "It would not make sense to send her elsewhere-"

"I know that," interrupted Cogsworth gruffly as Mrs Potts raised her eyebrows, observing the bickering between the two. "She is an intelligent lady, but I do not want to see her fall prey to the Prince's attentions, since she has only just arrived here. At least until this ghastly ball is over, she must stay out of the master's sight. It is for her own good. After that, once things have calmed down, perhaps she could move to a better position. You must make sure also that she is NEVER to enter the West Wing."

"I see," replied Mrs Potts as the wheels in her head began to turn. "You want me to keep her downstairs."

"At all times," replied Cogsworth.

Lumiere nodded in agreement before standing up and straightening his waistcoat.

"I must apologize to you, Cogsworth. I understand where you are coming now, and I have to say, for perhaps the first time, I actually agree with you."

"Hallelujah," muttered Mrs Potts as she stared at the smug-looking Lumiere before she, too, stood up. "I have heard that the Prince has requested that all the attendees wear white for the ball, is this really true Cogsworth?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it is," replied Cogsworth sadly. "I don't really want to contemplate on what his designs are in enforcing such a dress code."

"I think I can," said Lumiere darkly as he stood up. "I swear that he is becoming less and less human every day."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: Sorry for the late update guys! So much going on at the moment, and I'm currently abroad, so it's difficult to know exactly how often I can update, but I will try my best to be as regular as possible! I hope you all enjoy the chapter, and, as always, please follow, review and let me know what you all think! Thank you for your continued support – it truly means the world. Happy reading everyone!

Chapter 4

Two weeks later

Belle was so overwhelmed with the amount of work she had to go through within a single day that she was starting to worry that she might not be able to hold on to her position, let alone manage to be promoted. Some of the kitchen staff were rather sympathetic towards her, while others were perhaps not as patient as Mrs Potts.

It was a highly stressful job, but Belle knew that the cooks had the toughest job of all and were under scrutiny the most. Their collective effort all came down to the glorious dishes they created, which, day after day, disappeared up the golden spiral staircase, as well as another, older-looking wooden staircase, which was located on the opposite side of the maid's rooms. The chefs would often stare up the golden staircase wearily whenever they happened to pass by it.

Only a week ago, Monsieur Cogsworth had come hurrying down to the kitchens with barely touched plates of food, whispering hoarsely that the Prince had been unsatisfied with his meal and that he wanted the person responsible fired. Cogsworth, having tasted the food and finding nothing amiss, landed himself in a tizzy over what to do, as he did not honestly believe that anyone needed firing. Only the other hand, he did not wish to defy his master and risk losing his own job. Mrs Potts calmly informed the increasingly neurotic Cogsworth that since the Prince didn't even know who cooked his food, much less cared, he would not notice the difference as long as the kitchen continued to deliver the superb level of food they had always served the Prince. Satisfied, Cogsworth reluctantly dropped the matter, but he spent the following days continuously sighing in relief that the Prince had not brought up the subject ever again, having seemingly forgotten about it. The head chef, Belle later learned, had been serving the aristocratic family for over three generations. She wondered how somebody could simply dismiss a member of staff who had served them loyally for so long and not even know who they were.

The day of the ball had finally arrived, and the castle was busier than usual, although our young heroine was none the wiser. She began her day as she always did now, making her way out of her room at five o'clock sharp. On this particular day, however, she was struck by the amount of staff rushing about, moving, or rather running, up and down the narrow hallway.

"Good morning Belle," said Emile, the patissier, who was just passing her doorway. Even though she was just a scullery maid, she was respected by her colleagues, something she hadn't expected. She had supposed that, with such strict ranks in the household system, she wouldn't be acknowledged, just as the people in the village had dismissed both her and her father, simply because they lived on the edge of town.

"Good morning monsieur," replied Belle brightly as she closed her door. "It's rather busy today."

"Well, of course! Today is _the_ day!" replied the pastry chef before shaking his head in disbelief in response to Belle's blank expression. "Didn't anybody tell you?"

"I knew there was going to be a ball of sorts, but I didn't realize it was going to be taking place today," replied Belle incredulously as a maid swept past her, sighing ever so slightly, as if to express that she found the 'new girl' to be a severe inconvenience. Sadly, this was becoming a rather common occurrence around Belle.

They may be polite to her, but that did not mean necessarily that they were kind to her, nor that Belle found it easy exactly to make conversation. She was working as the lowest of the low, even within the ranks of the scullery maids, so she spent most of the day working by herself, with very little time to converse with the other members of staff.

Belle did not mean to be demeaning, but, from the little conversation she had managed to overhear, she knew instantly that it was going to be very hard to talk to the other girls working in the kitchens, mainly because they did not share any common interests and spent most of their time gossiping about other people, the Prince, and very little else. Her father had often told her that she was a girl ahead of her time, and while this was a good thing, sometimes Belle felt like this left her alienated in the world. She couldn't very well start talking about Romeo and Juliet with one of them (she'd tried this once and the girl in question said that she didn't know a Romeo nor a Juliet who worked at the castle).

The maids became slowly aware of the fact that Belle was not like them either, even though they were technically in the same position. For starters, they were shocked by the way that Belle spoke; she may be a simple farm girl, but she spoke like an educated lady. This thoroughly puzzled them, as they couldn't understand why a woman of her potential would be working as a scullery maid. Simply put, they felt belittled, and, secretly perhaps, a little jealous.

If she had simply been soft-spoken, that would have been one thing, but they also noticed that she read.

A lot.

Mrs Potts had very generously given Belle some books from her own office, topics that covered mostly that of cooking and cleaning, the main things Mrs Potts was chiefly concerned about, but Belle had been thrilled with the tedious books, instantly sitting down to read them, whenever she had free time. She found them accessible and useful when it came to bettering herself during her cleaning tasks, and preferred the method of reading as a form of study as opposed to listening to instruction and awkwardly asking embarrassing questions. Mrs Potts did find this a little singular and perhaps antisocial, but if she was more comfortable that way, Mrs Potts felt no reason to criticize Belle for her method of working.

"There's something funny about that girl," muttered Claudette as they sat around one of the servant's tables in the servant's dining hall one night, a week after Belle had arrived.

"She's never here during dinner. All she does is sit in her room and read those damn books."

"Perhaps she just misses her family?" suggested the blonde-haired Marie, who sat next to Claudette. "She's only been here for a week after all. Maybe she's one of those shy girls-"

"I heard her suggesting to Mrs Potts that she rearrange the kitchens so that the dishes could be dried next to where they were washed, because she read about it in one of her books!"

"Well, let's just give her some time," replied Marie, trying to calm down the conversation. "I'm sure she's not as snooty as you are suggesting Claudette."

"That's just because all the world is good and agreeable in your eyes darling," replied Claudette, but she was smirking at her friend humorously.

Not that Belle did not try. But whenever she had managed to start a conversation, it always ended with the same expression on her counterpart's face: either that of confusion or disbelief.

The only comfort she found lay in the infrequent times she'd managed to socialize with either Monsieur Cogsworth, Monsieur Lumiere or Mrs Potts. They were eager to make sure that she was happy with her station, and they seemed to understand what she was going through.

As Belle followed the patissier, she was glad to see all three of them in the kitchen, instructing various members of staff in their preparations for the so-called ball.

"Hey, chapeau, you missed a spot!" remarked Lumiere before turning to look at Belle. "Good morning mademoiselle! How are you?"

"Very well sir," replied Belle, bowing quickly. "Today is the day of the ball?"

"Indeed, it is," said Lumiere, as he led Belle away from the commotion going on between the chefs, who were arguing about which lemons to use for the lemon tart they were apparently making.

"I was wondering if I could be of use somehow, beyond just cleaning the kitchen. I know how frantic things must be today, so if there is anything I can do-"

"That will not be necessary mademoiselle," yelled Cogsworth over the loud noise of the kitchen, hastily making his way towards them by brushing past various members of staff, narrowly missing a butler who was carrying a large crate full of bottles of wine.

"We have extra staff who have come in just for today, so there is no need to worry."

"Who's worrying," murmured Lumiere as he smirked, folding his arms as he leaned against the pale, yellow wall behind him.

Cogsworth grumbled incoherently towards Lumiere before turning his attention back to Belle.

"Mademoiselle, things are going to be very noisy around here so I would advise for you to try and not get in anyone's way. I don't expect the staff to be in the cheeriest of moods due to all the stress they will be under."

"I understand," replied Belle, nodding her head respectively. "I will try my best to stay out of people's way."

Cogsworth smiled with satisfaction before turning away to rush back upstairs, unaware that Mrs Potts was giving him a rather deadly glare of disapproval.

"Don't you mind about Cogsworth mademoiselle, He is just uptight and nervous because he's worried that things will go wrong this evening. After all, it will be _his_ neck that'll be on the line, should the ball not go exactly to the master's liking."

"Is the Prince really such a formidable character?" asked Belle, unable to resist asking the question that had been plaguing her mind for quite some time.

The maids at dinner always spoke of how handsome he was but also cold and aloof, something which was apparently supposed to be attractive, although Belle only interpreted this description as mere validation for how every stereotypical aristocrat demonstrated themselves to be, whenever she had had the rare chance of encountering one in the village, as they passed through, no doubt travelling towards much richer destinations.

Some of the staff stated that, as a ruler, this was necessary, as it was the duty of the lord of the land to command respect from his people; people, Belle incidentally thought, he had never paid respect to in return. Maids, who whispered by the hallways in between chores, would discuss his various affairs and suggest that he even had several bastard offspring. How much of this was true, Belle could not say, but one thing was absolutely certain: The Prince did not sound like a particularly nice person.

Mrs Potts glanced at Lumiere worriedly, who did not seem to know how to respond to Belle's question. Cogsworth had made it quite clear to them that they were not to discuss the Prince, aside from when it was necessary to do so.

"The master is good to us," said Mrs Potts slowly. "We all rely on him… He is responsible for our livelihoods."

Belle frowned slightly as she listened to Mrs Potts' rather bland response. Every time the faceless aristocrat was mentioned in front of the heads of household, they seemed to freeze in fear as if he were a taboo subject that should never be discussed. Whereas the maids very freely discussed the master, Lumiere, Mrs Potts and Cogsworth, seemed to shrink at the very mention of his name. It almost seemed as if they deliberately avoided speaking about him whenever she was around.

Whenever she was around….

"Are you okay mademoiselle?" asked Lumiere as Belle looked as if she was staring blankly into space.

"Yes," stammered Belle, blinking rapidly. "Yes, I'm completely fine. I'll just go get prepared to do my morning chores then."

"Yes, of course dear."

Lumiere and Mrs Potts watched silently as Belle turned swiftly away and then hastened out of the kitchen archway.

"Oh dear, I don't think she was satisfied with that answer at all," remarked Mrs Potts as she patted down her white apron before letting out a weary sigh. "I cannot understand why Cogsworth is so adamant that we do not speak of him."

"Can you really not?" said Lumiere as he leant further back and folded his arms, his voice dark in timbre.

Mrs Potts paused as she stared at Lumiere, who was looking uncharacteristically somber. It was rare for Lumiere to criticize anyone, but whenever he did, it was always with very good reason.

"Yes, well, I'm afraid we can't exactly keep her in the dark forever," continued Mrs Potts as the sous chef passed by her, incidentally, nodding in agreement. "She must be prepared."

"The girl is curious, I've noticed," said Lumiere, trying to move the conversation on to a topic they'd much rather discuss. "Most girls here simply follow orders, but she always has a questioning expression on her face, as if she were constantly asking 'why'?"

"Yes," replied Mrs Potts, her face thoughtful, "she seems to want to know as much as possible. I do not think she enjoys being in a state of ignorance. Whether this is a helpful quality or not-"

"Well," interjected Lumiere as he lifted himself off the well and straightened his glitzy waistcoat, "at least today she will be so busy with all the work the kitchen will bombard her with, she will hardly have time to even contemplate going upstairs."

"I worry about Cogsworth," sighed Mrs Potts as the patissier passed by her, giving her a knowing smile, "I hope everything goes well, for his sake."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it Madame," said Lumiere smugly, "the only thing the master will be concerned with tonight will be to dance with all the pretty young women who will be attending tonight, perhaps even finding a suitable mistress. He won't be paying attention to anything else."

"Yes," said Mrs Potts darkly as they made their way towards the archway, as the kitchen continued to get more and more crowded, "I suppose you are right. I cannot help but disapprove of the way he treats them all-"

"Or rather, how he manages to host a ball and not worry about any man standing up to him, or competing with him to receive a woman's affections?"

"Oh, I very much doubt that it is 'affection' that the master is after," said Mrs Potts in a low voice as they entered the hallway and turned left towards the golden staircase. "That poor boy is going to end up with nothing if he's not too careful."

Lumiere said nothing in response as they ascended the staircase, aware that Mrs Potts was not in a good mood and secretly would not enjoy observing, nor serving, the guests who would be attending the ball that night.

….

Belle let out a sigh of relief as she leaned against the wall. She did not mean to eavesdrop, but she wanted so desperately to know what they were hiding from her.

Her heart had plummeted to the floor when Lumiere and Mrs Potts had come out of the archway, and she was sure that they would have noticed her, but, luckily, they turned left towards the staircase, instead of right, where she had been standing, and they both seemed so engrossed in their conversation that they did not pay much attention to what was going on around them.

Belle could not discern much from their conversation, but at least she knew now that some of what the maids talked about was true. The prince was indeed something of a womanizer and viewed women only as objects. If Mrs Potts, who seemed to see the best in everyone, claimed it to be so, then it must be true. They thought that she was naïve in the ways that a man could try and take advantage of a woman lower in status, but Belle had had plenty of experience in the village concerning that matter, not to mention Gaston who constantly-

"Aah!" shrieked Belle, as she felt someone poke her from behind.

As she swiveled around, her eyes met those of a beautiful lady, who she recognized immediately as Plumette.

"Plumette," said Belle, unable to disguise the sharp relief she felt seeping into her voice. "Thank god, I thought you were-"

"Mrs Potts?" questioned Plumette, folding her arms. She sounded accusatory but she wore a smirk on her face, so Belle was pretty sure she was only toying with her. Nevertheless, she had caused Belle to jump and feel as if she had dropped off a cliff; not exactly the nicest sensation in the world.

"How did you-"

"I saw you eavesdropping on their conversation mademoiselle," replied Plumette lightly before smiling genuinely. "You need to practice to get better at it. Don't worry, you'll soon learn, the maids are very good at this particular skill you know."

"Yes, I gathered," sighed Belle as she leaned against the cream-coloured wall behind her in exhaustion. God, and it was only six in the morning!

"You wanted to know more about the Prince yes? Cogsworth always says to me that newcomers who have no experience should stay in the kitchens till they are ready, but I say, as a young woman who needs to survive, one must live and learn! I think he's overreacting anyway-"

"Some of the maids say that the Prince has had affairs with staff and fathered bastard children-"

Belle would have continued but at that moment Plumette suddenly burst into laughter, leaving her utterly speechless.

"That is complete rubbish mademoiselle," said Plumette in response as she tried to calm herself down. "The prince does not have any bastard children, believe me, as I am Head Maid, I would know."

Plumette sounded so confident, so completely convinced that Belle felt she had no choice but to believe her. There was, however, still a small part of her that lay slightly disturbed.

"The prince rarely has time for the maids, he has better prey to go after. Cogsworth doesn't want him having dalliances with the staff, that is all, because he must clean up the situation afterwards and transfer the poor girl to another position. I suspect he knows that your family is in debt, so he's simply protecting you and making sure you keep your job."

"I would never get involved with the Prince, not in a million years!" retorted Belle in anger, unaware of where it was coming from. "I'm not a silly, naïve girl who doesn't know how to protect herself, and I wouldn't be stupid enough to hand over what little power I have to someone clearly not my equal!"

Plumette simply blinked in response to Belle's sudden outburst, but soon found herself to be rather satisfied, and impressed, by the spirited young lady standing in front of her. She had assumed Belle to be a shy recluse with no fight within her.

"It seems like the Heads of Household underestimated you," murmured Plumette in approval, "I don't think there's anything to worry about. You have your head on straighter than perhaps all the maids here put together."

Belle looked up in surprise as Plumette observed her with curiosity, her eyes narrowing slightly as silence fell upon their conversation.

After a moment, Plumette spoke once more.

"Would you like to see him?"

"What?" stammered Belle after a moment, wondering whether she had misheard what Plumette had just said.

"Would you like to see the Prince?" whispered Plumette slowly as she edged closer towards Belle, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"I, err-" fumbled Belle, unable to form a response. What exactly was Plumette suggesting?

The vivacious woman proceeded to pull Belle quickly towards the old, rickety wooden staircase, which was situated at the very end of the hallway, where she knew the kitchen staff would not be able to hear them.

"The Ball is taking place tonight my dear," said Plumette, as if their conversation had not stopped. "If you like, we can go and see the Ball taking place from the balcony. Oh, don't worry, we won't be seen nor caught by the aristocrats because the only way to get there is through these steps."

Plumette gestured towards the wooden staircase they were standing by. Belle looked up hesitantly. She couldn't even see where it led because it was completely pitch black.

"There's no chance we would be caught," continued Plumette. "So, what do you say?"

"But Mrs Potts and Monsieur Cogsworth-" started Belle worriedly but Plumette interrupted her.

"Where is that fire that I saw a minute ago? The curious girl who was eager to know more? Don't you wish for a little adventure?"

Belle stared at Plumette for a moment in fascination. She couldn't understand it, but she was sure that she must have very little talent in hiding her inner thoughts. Because what Plumette said was completely right. She did long for a little adventure. Even if she was just a maid in a so far rather unexciting castle.

"Yes, I do," she muttered in response to Plumette's question, before giving a reluctant little smile.

"There we go," said Plumette warmly, finally satisfied. "Meet me here at nine in the evening. I will make an excuse for you to not be in the kitchens. Okay, mademoiselle?"

"Thank you," replied Belle, suddenly feeling rather excited. Even though she suspected that the Ball would be completely vapid, she couldn't help but feel that her interest was slightly piqued. After all, it wasn't often that a farm girl got to witness a royal ball taking place.

There was also a small part of her, perhaps a part which she even refused to acknowledge, that was eager to finally see, with her own eyes, the much-discussed Prince.

….

Belle arrived exactly on time, as Plumette instructed, and lo and behold, the lady in question was standing by the staircase, tapping her fingers impatiently on the banister.

"There's no need to tiptoe mademoiselle," remarked Plumette, lifting her eyebrows with amusement. "The kitchen staff know that you are with me."

Belle immediately straightened her posture as she looked gingerly behind her, expecting to see the staff watching her, eagle eye, but the hallway was desserted.

"The power that comes when you are 'head of something' here," said Plumette lightly, "nobody questions your actions. Nobody will be down here anyway, they'll be busy watching the ball taking place upstairs or cleaning up in the kitchen. The chefs won't be paying attention to what a lowly scullery maid is doing, they're much too busy."

Belle nodded hastily, appreciative that Plumette was trying to reassure her that her position was not in jeopardy. Yet as she heard stringed instruments echoing from above, her sense of curiosity returned, and she felt a hunger to finally venture upstairs.

"Let's go up then," said Plumette as she smiled warmly at Belle and proceeded to lift her cream coloured skirts and walk up the dusty wooden steps.

As they ascended, it proceeded to get darker and darker, the clear, bright lights of the kitchen slowly fading away into nothingness. Belle was suddenly grateful that Plumette had brought along a candelabra, which provided the only source of light and prevented Belle from taking a misstep and falling over. The staircase was extremely narrow, and as Belle placed her hand on the panelled wall next to her for support, she felt cobwebs and dust. Flinching her fingers away in response, Belle did not realize that Plumette had in fact finally reached the landing. The staircase seemed to be much longer than the ornate golden staircase, so Belle figured they must have climbed at least three floors, if not more.

"How much further is it?" asked Belle, trying to not to sound impatient.

"We're nearly there, mademoiselle," replied Plumette, her voice reassuring Belle through the darkness.

"Why is there a ball taking place anyway?" asked Belle, wanting to create conversation to feel less uneasy about the only slightly claustrophobic staircase they were climbing.

"Oh," replied Plumette with slight hesitancy before continuing, "nobody really knows for sure, but if you ask me, I think it is because the Prince wanted to distract himself from the fact that he decided to miss his father's funeral."

" _That's_ the reason?" exclaimed Belle as her eyes widened in shock. "When was his father's funeral?"

Plumette turned around to stare incredulously at Belle, shocked by her ignorance on the matter.

"Darling, did you not know? Well, I suppose the subject was kept rather hush, hush but… The funeral took place yesterday in Paris."

"I knew that his father had died, I overheard the maids talking about it. But… But why would someone miss their own father's funeral?" asked Belle sharply, unable to comprehend why the Prince would do such a thing. If Belle's father died… She didn't even want to think about what she would do or how she would feel.

Plumette stared at Belle almost with pity reluctantly replying to her question.

"It might be a little hard for a woman who has sacrificed everything for her own father to understand but… Well, the Prince and his father were not exactly on the best of terms. They live in a completely separate world to our own mademoiselle, and in their world, family is not the same as family in our world."

That was all Plumette seemed to have to say on the matter, because she proceeded to turn away and continue climbing up the stairs.

As Belle followed her, she contemplated her words. True, Plumette did have a point, but, as she suggested, the Prince's world seemed so separate from Belle's that it seemed virtually impossible for Belle to truly understand the reason behind the Prince's actions. How could you miss your parent's funeral, no matter how much you disliked them? They were still your own blood after all.

"Mademoiselle," whispered Plumette, interrupting Belle's nagging thoughts. "We are here."

As she climbed up after Plumette, Belle saw that they were met with an area which consisted of a dusty wooden door, and a walkway on the right, which seemed to go on forever. It was completely dark, so who knew where it led. Either way, Belle could see why nobody ever came up here. There was a strange, dusty smell about the place like it hadn't been disturbed for centuries, and the floors were so uneven and creaky, that one would certainly not want to be left up here alone at any time of day.

Belle didn't believe in ghosts, but she wouldn't exactly be surprised if she were to unexpectedly encounter one cold, chilly night. Such as this.

"Please tell me that we are going to go through this wooden door Plumette and not that sinister looking hallway on our right," whispered Belle, shivering as she rubbed her arms for warmth.

"Don't worry mademoiselle, the balcony is just through here," said Plumette as she put down the candelabra and reached for the rusty doorknob.

"Oh, but one thing before we go inside," she continued, turning to look at Belle. "We will have to be as quiet as dormice and crouch down as we make our way across the balcony. Although it's highly unlikely that they will be looking up, we don't want Cogsworth, or anybody else for that matter, to see us up here."

"Understood," said Belle, nodding her head curtly. Plumette grinned in return before turning towards the door once more. As Belle felt her heart thumping against her chest, Plumette turned the doorknob very slowly and opened the door.

The muted sound of stringed instruments was replaced by music, which suddenly burst forth from the door, as Belle's ears were invaded by the sound of laughter, people chattering, and aristocrat's feet, which were no doubt sweeping across the dance floor.

As Plumette gestured for Belle to come through the door, Belle saw that there was an archway in front of them which led out on to a lavishly decorated balcony. The light that was coming from the ballroom below was reflecting upwards a little, but, overall, the balcony was relatively hidden in darkness.

"Come on," mouthed Plumette, as she proceeded to get down her knees and crouch down, slowly moving out onto the balcony. Taking a big gulp, Belle copied exactly as Plumette was doing, getting on all fours and slowly moving out. They were hidden entirely from view because of the high bannister which ran all the way across their hidden viewpoint. The balcony seemed to curve its way around the ballroom, and Belle suddenly felt a little bit like a spy in one of the novels she'd read as they continued to shuffle along. She couldn't help but feel excited by the whole ordeal and even laugh in response to the absurdity of it all. She couldn't have ever imagined that she would be doing this back when she lived in the village, ending up in a strange castle and secretly watching a grand ball taking place.

"Here should be good," murmured Plumette before stopping short and sitting down, keeping her head below the height of the marble banister. "We can see a great deal from here."

Having been preoccupied with the rather exhaustive task of shuffling along the floor, Belle hadn't the time to peer through the marble balcony to look down at the ballroom below closely. All she vaguely saw were people dancing to lavish music, some of them standing by the sides of the ballroom and observing the spectacle, drinking what appeared to be some sort of sparkly drink from crystal-like glasses.

Now, as she stopped to sit next to Plumette however, she could finally take a better look.

"Isn't it just spectacular?" whispered Plumette excitedly as the waltz came to a close, and the couples bowed to one another before withdrawing back to their respective groups.

Belle could not even form an answer as she simply gazed in amazement at the spectacle that lay before her. She had never seen anything like it in her entire life. It went beyond what she had envisioned balls to look like as a child, from all the fairy tales that her father used to read to her. This was beyond even her own vivid imagination. This was truly a different world…..

The ballroom itself was stunning, with so many crystal chandeliers hanging from its walls that Belle could not even count them all. They seemed to glitter merrily, adding to what already seemed like a very enchanting atmosphere. The rococo design which Belle had briefly seen outside clearly continued on within the castle itself because all the cream-coloured walls and indeed the ceiling itself, was covered with the swooping design. The dance floor itself was magnificent with golden swirls decorating its shiny surface.

Despite the lavishness of it all, Belle was hardly a prude. She recognized elegance when she saw it, and this ballroom had it in abundance.

And the people…..

The ladies and gentlemen, who no doubt were aristocrats of very high rank, were wearing beautiful gowns and coats, all various colours of white, their garments adorned with glittering diamonds and pearls which reflected off the light that the chandeliers were shining down upon them. They were all covered so much in jewels, that it made Belle feel slightly peakish, as well as a little fascinated.

"Why are they all wearing white?" asked Belle quietly, leaning towards Plumette.

"I don't know, but I suspect it's another one of the Prince's orders, trying to differentiate himself from his father's funeral as much as possible."

Belle shook her head in disbelief as she turned to look at the ball once more, unable to comprehend the Prince's actions. It was beyond rude. It was… It was hard-hearted, as if alluding towards his true nature as a person who did not feel any remorse. The more she heard about this Prince, the less she wanted to encounter him. In a way, she was glad to be hidden away in the kitchens.

But she was also a little curious to observe him….

While Belle sat ruminating over her thoughts, a sudden silence fell upon the dance floor as Lumiere, whom she immediately recognized due to his golden coat, stood up abruptly and walked towards the orchestra. After speaking briefly to the harpsichord player and singer, Lumiere turned towards the audience and announced that the Prince's Waltz was going to take place.

Belle turned to look at Plumette quizzically, confused to see that, almost as if on cue, half of the crowd suddenly parted and left the ballroom, until only a large group of young women were left standing in the middle of the ballroom, facing towards the left. Some of the gentlemen as chosen to remain, but they did not go up to offer to dance with the ladies, they merely watched from the sidelines.

Plumette smirked as Belle as she frowned at her, before whispering, "This you will enjoy."

It took Belle a moment to realize that the dancers were all looking towards the Prince, who, no doubt, had been silently watching the ball just as she had been, entirely obscured from view.

The sound of the harpsichord began to echo across the room, and the women began to bow before turning towards their partners and lifting their arms to dance. Unlike before, the music was no longer elegant but instead rather suggestive, and Belle suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. The women danced almost provocatively, swirling about the floor as if trying to win the Prince's attentions. There was something repulsive about the display. Hollow almost... Despite what Plumette said, Belle was not enjoying herself. She felt sad for the poor ladies, but oddly they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Again, it was beyond Belle's imagination, so many of them, trying to take advantage of what seemed to her to be an extremely vapid man.

Belle was nearly tempted to turn to Plumette and suggest that they leave when, out of nowhere, she abruptly saw him.

Him, being the Prince.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: Thank you for being patient! Again, I'm sorry that I couldn't bring this to you all sooner, but I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the continued support, I cannot believe how much encouragement I have received, it is truly touching and it just shows how much we all love Beauty and the Beast! I went to see the film for the fourth time yesterday to get some more inspiration… Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this next instalment and please review, follow and favourite as always, I love to hear what you all think! From this point, things get interesting, and I start to veer away from what we already know. Also, please don't pay too much attention to a certain name (you'll know what I mean), it is completely historically inaccurate but taken to enrich the story! I hope Belle isn't too out of character here! Happy reading everyone!

Chapter 5

One might question how on earth Belle managed to recognize the Prince among the layers upon layers of white silk floating about the ballroom, but it wasn't difficult.

Sliding down from his throne, Belle saw the Prince for the first time as he drifted effortlessly into view. She couldn't see the dancers clearly because she was so high up, but she could tell immediately that he was indeed the Prince.

For one thing, he was the only man on the dance floor, as he was surrounded by crowds of dazzling women who circled closely about him, like vultures looking for prey. It was clear nonetheless, who had the _real_ power in the room.

Belle had never seen anything like it, and, quite honestly, she's couldn't even form an opinion on it, for she was that gobsmacked. Even Gaston, the hero of Villeneuve, was never quite _this_ surrounded. It looked like a strange dream-like sequence, so far removed from reality. Or rather, Belle's reality.

But there was something else too.

The Prince was different, compared to his guests. He moved, not graciously, as they did, but smoothly, almost like a languid snake. To Belle, he looked too fluid, so much so that he appeared almost inhuman as he started to waltz with a young lady who happened to be close by, taking her so quickly into his arms that she hardly had any time to respond.

Belle knew that every single person in the room had their eyes on the Prince, and as she watched them watching him, she realized why the maids were so fascinated with the lord of the land, why the women dancing on the ballroom floor right this second were so happy to be able to dance with him, even if they had to do it with a hundred others who all wished for the exact same thing. There was a certain magnetism about royalty, so Belle could partially understand the fascination, but she also sensed that the Prince had a strange aura about him, one which was at once both terrifying and alluring.

His face was completely obscured from view because he had hidden it with, well, Belle couldn't quite tell, but it looked almost like a mask. Along with the light grey wig which completely covered his hair, it was almost impossible to discern anything about him. After a moment of observation however, Belle realized that this was entirely the point. He was in disguise, and of course that would always work to anyone's advantage, because mystery is always an attractive quality.

It also kept people at bay...

Belle almost questioned what the prince was hiding from as she watched with ever increasing curiosity. He was making his way about the dance floor, almost lazily changing partners every so often without giving so much as a glance towards the partner he had left behind. It was difficult to describe, but if Belle could, she would say that it was like he was nonchalantly flicking through a book, but not having the patience to read a single word, the pages barely touching his fingers as he grazed across them.

Even from this distance, Belle could feel his coldness, his lack of interest. As if there were something missing. He was almost… bloodless in his lack of passion, which felt jarring and disturbing as he was surrounded by woman who seemed to be overflowing with it, trying desperately to garner his attention.

Unlike his guests, the prince was dressed in very dark attire, a navy-blue coat dotted with diamonds, which seemed to sparkle enticingly like stars scattered across the night sky. As Belle's eyes followed him, she was reminded of pictures she had seen of Lucifer, who, like the prince, seemed to have eyes that were hidden in darkness, a cruel, sly smile the only visible feature.

The fallen angel, the most beautiful of all of God's winged creatures, who fell from grace and was banished to hell….

Just as Belle began to wonder whether associating the Prince with the very devil himself was perhaps a little too harsh, the terrace doors blasted open, abruptly putting a stop to the ball.

The luscious sound of the strings died away as all the candlelight was extinguished by the violent wind which began to gust about the ballroom. The women, who had been merrily dancing, started to gasp and shriek in response to the sudden change in their environment, and the Prince turned towards the terrace to confront what was happening.

Plumette looked at Belle worriedly, who, in turn, stared back quizzically, but the maid simply shook her head, entirely nonplussed. Clearly, this had not been part of the plan for tonight's entertainment.

Something was wrong. Belle could feel it in her bones as she peered through the darkness, the icy cold air blowing through her loose hair.

She could just about see Cogsworth, who was walking hurriedly towards the terrace doors to see what was going on. It was hard to know with all the commotion, but eventually, Belle saw Lumiere economically passing a candelabra to the Prince, who stood in the middle of the floor, the women all gathered behind him.

It was only when the Prince lowered the candelabra in his hand down towards the floor, that Belle realized that there was actually someone there, hunched down, hidden from view by heaps of indistinguishable rags. Nobody else had noticed it seemed, because all of a sudden, they all gasped as the light illuminated upon the strange creature.

From under the layers of rags, a frail looking hand emerged, holding a vivid, blood-red, rose.

It was of such a drastic colour that it surprisingly contrasted with the rest of the golden ballroom. A simple flower perhaps, but it was also a symbol of understated beauty; something grown, not made. Everything else in the ballroom seemed insignificant and shallow in comparison.

At least, that's what Belle felt.

She had her own fascination with roses, but perhaps that tale is for another time. For now, the room began to fill with murmurs and whispers, as everyone wondered who the stranger was.

From under a hood, Belle could just about make out a face, and, squinting her eyes, saw that it was an old woman. No doubt a beggar who was asking for money or food perhaps in exchange for the rose.

Belle narrowed her eyes as she waited to see how the Prince would respond. Even in the moonlight, and with only a single candelabra, his coat glittered audaciously. It was clear enough from his body language that he was mocking her, for he kept his distance from the beggar, but was looking down at her with disgust, made clear by his mouth, which was curled into a sneer.

The old woman began to speak, but from the balcony, it was impossible to understand what she was saying. Nevertheless, as Belle predicted, the old beggar woman lifted the rose towards the prince, clearly offering it to him.

What happened next however, sent a chill down Belle's spine, and would leave her thinking about It all night.

For the Prince laughed.

Not the way that the villagers did when they noticed Belle doing something irregular. Not the way that Gaston did, whenever he was ridiculing someone.

No. The Prince laughed as if he had no soul.

This may seem melodramatic, but to Belle, she was starting to think that the comparison to Lucifer himself was perhaps not as harsh as she had previously thought.

It wasn't just that he was clearly mocking the poor woman. His hollow voice suggested something else to Belle, something much more vulgar. This person had no empathy, no mercy. Unlike the villagers who were small-minded due to their circumstances, this man was somebody who had opportunities all about him, but had decided to shut out the real world and live in a narrow one of his own creation.

Belle had never encountered a person of so little feeling, so strange a creature that even she could not seem to find any redeeming qualities. No wonder the staff were so nervous whenever she spoke of him. No wonder they wanted her to stay down in the kitchens.

Simply put, Belle knew, without having spoken a single word to the man, that he had no love in his heart, and cared for nothing and no one.

How was it possible to live in such a manner?

Belle wound her hands around her arms as she began to shiver, and Plumette, still sitting beside her, kindly passed an extra shawl she had brought along.

"Thank you," mouthed Belle as Plumette smiled kindly at her, a stark contrast to the horrible event taking place just below them.

The women started to laugh in response, eerily mirroring the Prince.

To Belle's utter surprise, the Prince actually took the rose from the beggar's hand. She did not know what the beggar had said, but he was clearly not impressed because he seemed to sneer at the rose.

Perhaps he was really considering letting the beggar stay…

The women behind started laughing again, and in response, the Prince sighed nonchalantly before discarding the beautiful rose cruelly onto the ground.

Belle could not help but literally gasp out loud this time.

He had never even considered accepting her offer, whatever it was. He was merely playing with the woman, as if she were a poor source for entertainment.

Belle didn't know how much more of this she could stand.

If this were a fairy-tale, like the many books Belle had read in her childhood, the old woman would turn out to be an enchantress, and curse the Prince for his misdeeds, turning him into some hideous creature.

But this was not one of those fictitious tales, and Belle did not want to stick around to watch helplessly as the old woman would inevitably be dragged away and thrown out, back into the stormy night.

"I want to leave," whispered Belle sadly, turning to Plumette, who blinked in surprise.

"Are you sure mademoiselle?"

"Yes, I'm sure," said Belle, her voice this time full of pent up anger. "I don't want to watch any more of this."

Plumette shrugged her shoulders as she followed Belle, who was already making her way back towards the door, careful not to make any big sounds.

Belle refused to look down this time as she shuffled along the balcony, but she was aware that the ladies were still giggling and pointing at the old woman, as if she were some strange creature.

Just as Belle reached the archway, she heard the Prince speak for the first time, although rather ironically, she could no longer see him.

"Throw her out! A rose in exchange for a stay in _my_ castle?! You must be mad!"

Belle closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. He had a melodious voice, a beautiful voice, but it was hollow and merciless.

His castle was magnificent aesthetically, but Belle disappointingly saw that it was just as she had predicted. It was all surface, and held no inner meaning or depth. It was empty, just like the Prince.

The crumbling dusty attic in Paris, where her father and mother had lived, probably held more meaning than the hundreds upon hundreds of rooms in the castle.

Now, she desperately wished to escape the dreadful place and return to her father as quickly as possible.

The only thing which Belle would remember that night as she lay in her bed, despite all the spectacle she had witnessed, would be the Prince's cruel, unfeeling laugh, which she would hear repeatedly as it echoed tauntingly. Refusing to go away, she tried to block it from her mind, desperate to fall asleep.

…..

The next morning, rather unsurprisingly, the ball was still on everyone's minds, including Belle's. According to Mrs Potts, the ball had resumed after the guards had taken the old woman away. The beggar apparently had been lucky not to have been arrested, but Prince had allegedly wanted as little trouble as possible, and so she was simply thrown out by the guards. Belle did her best to refrain from expressing her own personal feelings on the matter, but Mrs Potts saw that Belle did not agree with the Prince's actions. Refraining to comment on it however, she let Belle go about her business. Everyone was back to work as usual, although there were still many guests still staying at the castle.

As Belle was doing her morning chores, scrubbing away at the brass pots, many of which had been used the night before for the ball, she kept thinking about the ballroom, the rose, and the old woman. She wondered what had become of her, and despite Mrs Potts' reassurances, felt rather doubtful about the beggar's fate.

Looking down at her already red and sore fingers, wrinkly because of the soapy water, Belle suddenly felt a humongous urge to return to the ball once more.

To really look at the ballroom.

It was a crazy, ridiculous idea, but for some reason, she felt a sudden fearlessness within herself, even recklessness. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that she felt so angry about the Prince, and was therefore angry at herself for having taken any interest in him at all. Perhaps she just wanted to put the matter to rest because she had spent the entire night restless and endlessly thinking about what had happened. Perhaps Plumette had ignited that sense of adventure in her, something which Belle had always had. Either way, she wanted to know more.

"Are you alright, dear?" asked Mrs Potts.

"Yes," replied Belle brightly, before resuming her scrubbing.

"I suppose you have heard about what happened last night?"

"Yes," said Belle, looking up and trying to keep her face as unreadable as possible. "The maids spoke of an old beggar woman infiltrating the ballroom."

"Yes," sighed Mrs Potts, rubbing her hands together nervously. "I'm afraid it wasn't the most pleasant of evenings. I am so glad that you did not have to witness it. Anyway, I hope the maids are treating you well, just come speak to me if there's anything you need."

"Thank you Mrs Potts, you're very kind."

As the housekeeper walked away, Belle turned back to her work.

There was a look of determination on her face. She understood that they were trying to protect her from the horrors that lay in the castle, but Belle had always secretly prized knowledge and truth over security and ignorance. In the middle of night, she knew that the staff would be asleep, and the ballroom would be deserted. She had seen that the ballroom led out to the portrait gallery, which was where the golden staircase was.

It wouldn't be difficult to get in there, and Belle, now knowing exactly where it was due to her innate perceptiveness, was determined to explore it, if only once.

…

A maid sat by her door, listening.

The moonlight was streaming down through her window, but she paid no attention to it, her mind focused only on the sounds that were going on beyond her narrow door.

Having waited till the last couple of had maids entered their rooms and closed their doors, Belle made the decision to wait a little longer, just in case.

After thirty minutes of silence however, she knew that the coast was clear.

Glancing at the clock sitting on her bedside table, she saw that it was exactly two in the morning. That didn't give her much time, but it was more than enough; she only wanted to take a quick glance after all.

Taking hold of the pewter candlestick lying on the floor next to her, Belle slowly opened the door, careful not to make a sound.

Gingerly making her way out of her room, she glanced from side to side, making sure that the hallway was empty. It was dark, due to all the lights being out, so it was hard to make out anything, but Belle was pretty certain that she was alone.

Pulling down the handle to her door slowly, she closed the door promptly before making her way across the hallway towards the golden staircase.

She waited for a moment, peering up to see if anyone was upstairs. No light came from above however, and once again, only silence greeted Belle's ears.

Satisfied, Belle swiftly made her way up the staircase, tiptoeing so that she made as little noise as possible.

Reaching the landing, she found herself in the massive portrait gallery, one of the few places she had managed to see when she'd first arrived.

Unlike then however, all the lights were out, and it was nearly impossible to see anything. Taken aback, Belle began to wonder whether this was such a good idea, when she noticed that one of the doors was slightly ajar, and she could just about make out a beam of moonlight coming through. Making her way hastily across the portrait gallery, she approached the door, and once again checked around her to make sure that nobody was about.

Silence.

She was alone.

Letting out an unsteady sigh of relief, Belle opened the door to find the ballroom she had seen the night before.

Although the lights were out, and there was only moonlight and her candlestick to guide her through the grand room, Belle could still see the sparkling chandeliers, the richly designed walls covered in rococo design, and of course, the balcony above, where she had seen the entire ball take place.

It was odd to see it again, hidden in darkness, utterly still and silent. But for some reason, Belle felt more comfortable walking through it in the middle of the night than having to watch what had happened the night before.

It almost felt like freedom, being able to walk about such a magnificent place without anybody watching. It was all completely misguided of course, but Belle's curiosity got the better of her.

As she walked across the marble floor, she began to be more aware of its intricate designs, the delicate golden lines which seemed to intertwine and weave in and out of each other.

Belle looked up to see that she had made her way to the middle of the ballroom, and was standing pretty much exactly where the Prince had stood the night before. The high she had experienced upon entering the room immediately ebbed away as she stood there, looking down at the floor, where the old woman had been, begging to be able to stay, even if for just one night.

Belle hoped that she was alright.

Feeling a surge of anger rise within herself, Belle looked up once more and stared bitterly about the room.

She would have left there and then, if not for a curtain which suddenly caught her attention.

Belle stared at it for a moment before looking about the ballroom to see if there were any other curtains hanging from the walls, but there were none.

Looking back at the strange curtain, Belle narrowed her eyes. She sensed that something was hiding behind it.

Making her way across the ballroom, Belle approached the wall, which stood behind two marble pillars, secluded from view. Coming closer, she saw that it was a red velvet curtain which hung on the wall, with a golden rope hanging on its side.

Her brain told her not to pull it, obviously. It was a terrible idea. What if she couldn't put it back?

There was another, stronger voice in her head though, which seemed to urge her to pull it.

Belle's hand lingered on the rope, and, after taking one last look about the room, decided to pull it down.

As she did, what was revealed was not what she had been expecting, but it was nonetheless, extremely intriguing.

Wearing what had to be ceremonial robes, a tall, intimidating man stood before her, dressed in royal blue.

That is, there was a painting of an aristocrat dressed in royal blue, a portrait which was hanging on the wall in front of Belle. He was no doubt someone of importance, although Belle had absolutely no idea who he was.

Wearing a white wig, the shrewd-looking man was staring directly towards the viewer, his piercing blue eyes seeming to penetrate out of the portrait as if there was real life behind the paint.

Looking down at the golden frame which held the formidable painting, Belle saw that the man's name was inscribed.

 _Henri du France, duc de Chartres_

Just as Belle tried to get a better look at what she discerned to be a painting of one of the Prince's many family members, she heard a light tap come from across the ballroom, by the terrace doors.

Flinching in fright, Belle nearly shrieked, for she had thought herself to be alone. Turning around hastily, she was relieved to see that nobody was standing by the terrace doors, nor anywhere else in the ballroom.

Belle let out a sigh of relief. No doubt it had just been the wind, causing the vines to tap on the glass doors.

She was about to turn back towards the portrait, but then, she saw something lying on the floor just in front of the doors.

Moving swiftly across the ballroom floor, she looked out of the glass doors to confirm what she had seen. Just as she had thought, a slightly withered, blood red rose lay on the ground.

Belle's thoughts turned dark once more as she thought about the Prince, his heartlessness, and the poor beggar woman.

Looking down at the rose once more, Belle felt an impulse to open the terrace doors and retrieve it. She hated seeing things neglected, utterly forgotten. Besides, it was evident that nobody else wanted it.

To her surprise, she found the terrace doors to be unlocked, for when she pulled down the golden lever, the door opened, giving no resistance whatsoever.

Belle was met by the chilly night air as she leaned down to pick up the rose. It was unusually large, and was very beautiful, even in its shrunken state.

"Well, I am glad that somebody appreciates it."

Belle flinched as the voice appeared out of nowhere, clear and present.

Looking up rapidly, she was astonished to see the old beggar woman from the night before, standing in front her, smiling wryly and leaning on a long, wooden staff. She seemed taller than she had when confronting the Prince.

"Yes," breathed Belle, unable to think of anything else to say. "It is very beautiful."

"Hmm," murmured the old woman, who's face was still partially hidden under her hood. "Not everyone would agree, however. The thorns can be quite painful."

"You just need to be observant enough to avoid the thorns, that's all. Then you can truly appreciate its beauty," replied Belle, finding the insignificant looking woman increasingly interesting. She had an aura about her too, but it was one that spoke of true mystery, unlike the kind that requires a mask.

"So, you are claiming that you are observant, is that right?" replied the beggar, smiling once more as she turned to face the balcony.

"Well, no, I would never suggest-"

Although she was not facing Belle, the old woman lifted her hand to abruptly silence her.

"It's quite alright my dear. Most people in this world do not appreciate the curious, but I do. I saw you last night, observing the ball from above."

"You did?" replied Belle, surprised. "I didn't notice."

The old woman smiled to herself before turning around and looking at Belle directly. Bathed in the moonlight from behind, it was difficult to make out her face, but Belle could instinctively tell that whoever this old lady was, she was a kind-hearted person.

"You may be observant, but I am too. I take it that you did not approve of what you saw last night."

Belle frowned, slightly confused. Even though it was the old woman who had been mistreated, she spoke as if it did not bother her in the slightest, to the point where she almost sounded amused by the entire thing.

"I thought the Prince behaved abominably. What he did to you was a disgrace to the name of man."

This time, the beggar woman really did chuckle as she made her way towards a stone bench, which sat next to the terrace doors.

"Disgrace to the name of man," sighed the old lady as she sat down and gestured for Belle to sit next to her. "That is quite something, even I could not have come up with that."

Belle was becoming more and more confounded by the beggar, but also intrigued. Her voice was warm and inviting, but betrayed her appearance as that of an elderly woman because it suggested a life full of vitality and adventure. Experience. It made Belle want to speak her mind.

"As I saw him cruelly throw this rose at your feet," began Belle, sitting down next to the stranger, "I imagined that, if this were a fairy-tale, he would be cursed for his terrible actions. I imagined that he would turn into beast, so that everyone could see beyond the jewels, the crystals, the false elegance, and see the Prince for what he truly was. A cold, cruel, and ugly being."

Caught up in her own thoughts, Belle did not notice that the old woman had observing her, staring at her pensively.

Turning to look at the old lady, Belle blushed before swiftly looking away, turning her gaze towards the palace grounds and the moon, which shone brightly in the night sky.

"I'm sorry-" began Belle, her voice shaking from emotion but the old woman interrupted her immediately.

"Don't apologize my dear, there's nothing wrong with being passionate. I'm flattered that you thought so. It was down to my ill judgement, that is all. I should have known better. But enough of that, what I would like to know is why you were looking at that portrait just now."

"The portrait," muttered Belle, looking up at the contemplative woman sitting next to her, who was now staring at the moon, a little smile on her face. "The portrait is of a man named Henri, Duke of Chartres, I think."

"The Prince's father," spoke the lady slowly, leaning on her wooden staff.

Belle blinked.

"To answer your question," continued the beggar woman, lifting her eyebrows and staring at Belle knowingly. "No doubt the Prince asked for his father's portrait to be hidden because he did not wish to look upon it. Even the Prince must find it awkward to miss his own father's funeral."

"How did you know about the Prince and his father?" asked Belle, narrowing her eyes.

"I may be a beggar my dear, but that does not make me ignorant. People don't notice me, but that works to my advantage. It is truly astonishing, the amount of information and news you hear as one of those who is invisible to the community."

Belle listened, captivated by the woman's voice. She was surprisingly clear and eloquent; for a beggar woman that is.

"Now my dear," continued the beggar, turning to face Belle directly. "I am sure that you will want to return inside soon enough. You don't want anybody to catch you out and about in the middle of the night, roaming about places you shouldn't."

Belle would have replied but the strange woman proceeded to wink at her and smile coyly.

"Would you like a blessing?"

"Oh," stuttered Belle. "I don't have any money-"

"I'm not asking for anything in return," said the beggar woman, reaching out to pat Belle's hand lightly. "I'm offering you something in return for picking up the rose. Now, let me see… How about I tell you your fortune."

"My fortune?" repeated Belle.

The old woman smiled, her eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

"I see that _that_ has piqued your interest. Very well."

Before Belle could utter a single word, the old woman took hold of her hand; the hand which held the rose, and looked deep into Belle's eyes, as if she were searching for something.

"You will find happiness," murmured the old woman after a moment, narrowing her eyes, her gaze intense. "But not in the way you will expect…. Love. Yes, I see… True love. You will feel a rare and pure love for someone and that person-"

Just as Belle had been intently listening, the old beggar woman suddenly let go of her hand and stared at the rose, a disturbed expression on her face.

"What is it?" stammered Belle worriedly.

"Nothing my dear," replied the old woman nebulously. "I just saw something I wasn't expecting that is all. But nothing you should trouble yourself with. Rest assured, you will find happiness in your life, that is all that matters."

As the old woman got up, Belle pondered over her words. Yet again she found herself in a situation where somebody had tried to comfort her, but it had only brought her more confusion and sense of unease.

"Now, you must go back inside. You have already spent too long out here."

Looking up, the gypsy's words snapped Belle back into reality. She was correct, she had to get back to her room and quickly.

"Thank you," replied Belle, getting up to leave. "It was lovely to meet you. I am so glad that they did not treat you too roughly. If you are ever in need of food or shelter, please come down to the kitchens and I will help you."

"That is very generous of you my dear, I shall keep that in mind. Now, you must go!"

Belle nodded and smiled before turning away and opening the terrace doors, walking back into the comparatively warm ballroom.

As she turned around to wave once again, Belle stopped short in tracks, because the balcony was deserted. It was as if the old beggar lady had never been there.

"Strange," whispered Belle to herself before turning to look at the portrait of the Prince's father once more.

Ruminating over the evening's events, Belle suddenly realized that it was never made clear why the old woman had been there in the first place. Or how she had managed to even get there, especially in the middle of the night…

Belle didn't believe in fortune telling or destiny, let alone fate, but something had clearly disturbed the old woman. It was a little disconcerting…

Trying to rid the thought from her mind, Belle approached the oil painting, this time knowing who the man was, and looked intently at the portrait. Belle could not resist taking one last look before returning to the kitchens.

It was difficult to get any sense of the man, mostly because this was a painting and obviously made to look a certain way. Still, he was clearly a man of stature, who took his position very seriously. At least, that was what the painting implied. With long dark hair, and an astute, penetrative gaze, it was a far cry from his flamboyant son whom Belle had seen the night before.

Thinking over the old beggar's words, Belle looked down at the rose in her hand and shrugged her shoulders.

She might as well put it to good use.

Noticing that a beautiful, empty vase lay on the floor next to the marble table, Belle proceeded to pick it up and put the rose inside.

"I hope comfort and peace have come to you," she whispered before putting the vase down on the marble table, in front of the portrait painting of the Prince's father, and clasping her hands together.

Just as she was about to close her eyes, however, she heard footsteps coming from afar. Realizing that they were coming closer and closer, Belle hastened to find a place to hide. Whoever they were, there was absolutely no uncertainty in the fact that they were making their way down the portrait gallery and would no doubt notice a strange girl hanging about in the ballroom.

Hastily blowing out her candle, Belle knelt as she hid behind one of the marble pillars, trying to make herself as small as possible, tucking in her dress behind her legs.

The voices which accompanied the footsteps grew louder and louder, and as Belle hunched over, she prayed that they did not enter the ballroom.

Fate, however, was not to be kind.

"Oh my, this is the spectacular ballroom!" shrieked a voice from just outside the ballroom doors. This was followed by a fit of giggling, and it was then that Belle recognized them to be the young women who had been dancing the night before.

"Obviously, Josephine," replied another, slightly lower voice. "Is your memory really that bad?"

"May we go inside my lord?"

What followed was momentary silence, before the doors burst open and what sounded like a group of women came flouncing into the ballroom.

Belle tried her utmost to suppress a groan. She wished that she had never decided to come here. Being caught by a member of staff was one thing, but if she was caught by these aristocrats… There was no telling what would happen. Or rather what would happen to her.

Belle dared not think it at that moment. The only thing she could afford to concentrate on was keeping still and making sure that they did not notice her. She did have a slight advantage in the fact that she was behind the corner pillar, quite far away from the ballroom entrance, so if they swiftly moved on and out the doors, there was a high chance that she could escape unnoticed.

Unfortunately, the ladies seemed to be quite taken with the ballroom, and, from what Belle could hear, had started to dance around, giggling and laughing as they twirled about the dancefloor. No doubt they were befuddled and perhaps even tipsy.

Belle could not help but roll her eyes, despite the dire circumstances she found herself in. Thank goodness it was at least dark and she was basically hidden from view.

"My lord," said one of them, "please come over here!"

"For what purpose," muttered a deep, disenthralled voice. "Why did you insist on coming here in the middle of the night?"

Belle froze.

Unlike the women, whose voices echoed around the ballroom, this man's voice sounded much closer and self-contained.

Almost too close.

Sitting rock solid on the cold, marble floor, Belle breathed slowly though her nose.

She couldn't help but frown however. His voice sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"I want to dance!" exclaimed the young woman, still in the middle of the ballroom. "I want to relive the ball-"

"Why is this picture exposed?"

Belle's eyes widened.

She'd forgot.

She'd forgotten to close the curtain.

And the-

"Why is this rose here?"

A deadly silence fell as the woman, wisely, stopped giggling and dancing.

The man's voice wouldn't have suggested anger to most people, but Belle knew that his calm and soft timbre hide a deep-seated rage, that, if judged incorrectly, could burst forth at any given moment.

It was at that point that Belle felt her heart sank and she knew that she might as well fling herself over the balcony.

Because she knew who it was. Of course she did.

"My lord," quivered one of the ladies, clearly unaware of what was going on.

"Did you do this?" asked the Prince, his voice still ever present. Belle guessed that he was standing just in front of the pillar. Thankfully he hadn't seemed to notice her there.

"No, Your Highness, I would never-"

"Did someone set you up to this?"

This time his hoarse voice sounded further away, and Belle judged that he was now walking towards the poor ladies, innocent victims who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"No, sir I didn't-"

"Then why is this damned painting lying about for all to see and why is that rose here?!" bellowed the Prince, his voice full of such anger and fury, that Belle was taken completely off-guard.

She couldn't help but flinch, for she had never heard anyone sound like that before.

Simply put, he sounded terrifying.

The ladies, it seemed, felt the same way too, because Belle could hear them shaking and whimpering in the background.

Just as Belle thought that the Prince would begin shouting again, she heard his footsteps come closer.

She closed her eyes and prayed that he would not discover her.

Fortunately, they did stop. Belle did not dare to move her head but she guessed that he was staring at the portrait again, perhaps the rose.

"Ladies, please leave the ballroom. Now."

"Of course, Your Highness," mumbled the ladies as Belle heard them shuffle out of the room, no doubt glad to been given such an easy escape.

She heard the Prince sigh dejectedly as the ladies left.

Belle wondered what he was thinking as he looked at the painting. Did he feel any remorse or sadness at all at his father's passing? Probably not.

She prayed that he left soon. Prayed that he would simply go away and then she would be free to return to her humble bedroom, which now seemed like the best place in the world. Free to escape from this horrible nightmare.

As she waited however, she thoughts wandered back to his sigh. He sounded tired. Depressed even-

"Did you think I didn't know?"

Belle felt her breath stop. She swore her heart stopped too.

What followed was the longest pause in Belle's life. She could even hear her own breath and feel the blood being pumped furiously through her veins, it was that quiet. For a moment, Belle even wondered whether she had imagined him speaking, however-

"Did you think I didn't hear you?" murmured the Prince, his voice dangerously calm.

Belle could not even form a reply, she had lost the ability to speak. This could not be happening.

"Did you honestly think that you could hide there and get away with this?!"

As the Prince's voice rose in anger, Belle felt herself being pulled up by the collar and tossed against the wall.

Feeling the hot burn of a candle being thrust close to her face, Belle had little time to react, her view completely obscured by the blinding light.

Feeling the iron grip of the Prince's hand on her shoulder, Belle slowly opened her eyes as the candle lowered, allowing her to be able to see.

Piercing blue eyes invaded her view as she looked up, and Belle found herself face to face with the Prince for the very first time.

…..

The old woman stood behind the terrace doors, watching the scene take place before her. After a moment, she turned away. There was a crooked smile on her face.

"Interesting," she muttered as she walked away into the mist.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's note: Thank you guys for waiting! This was bloody hard, like seriously, I love writing but wow, this was tough. The Prince is not the Beast here, so I had to keep reminding myself that his outlook would be totally different to the Beast as we know him at the beginning of the story, where he has already been cursed for several years. The Prince in this story is still in his prime, so his view of Belle would be totally different. Also, a couple of you mentioned that they would either be attracted to each other or want to tear each other's throats out, but as we all know, there is a very thin line between love and hate…. There is one swear word in this chapter, and I am seriously debating on changing to the rating, so let me know if you think I should. Anyhow, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, please review, follow and like as always! Happy Reading everyone!

Chapter 6

The dancing and music resumed soon after the mysterious beggar woman disappeared, having been dragged forcibly outside by the castle guards.

At the wave of the maestro's baton, the strings began to play again and it almost made it seem like the harrowing incident had never even occurred.

Although visibly rattled, the guests tried their utmost to smooth things over by doing what they do best; ignoring the strange situation they found themselves in and pretending as if everything was fine and nothing out of the ordinary.

Cogsworth shifted his way slowly towards Lumiere, who was smiling benignly by the side of the ballroom but who, in actual fact, was secretly watching the terrace doors, where the guards were just returning from 'getting rid' of the strange old woman.

"Lumiere," muttered Cogsworth, barely moving his lips. "I am very worried about all of this, and that is an understatement. The master won't forgive such a mishap."

"She appeared from the terrace Cogsworth, that is no easy feat. The master knows as well as we do that there is only one way to appear through those doors and that is by being in the ballroom in the first place."

"Nevertheless," said Cogsworth hoarsely, finding it harder than his counterpart to keep his blood pressure down, "he will blame us for what happened here tonight, even though I made sure that there were guards stationed by the terrace doors outside."

"Because you anticipated that somebody would either climb up the turrets or perhaps levitate themselves up to the balcony," said Lumiere, turning to face the Head of the Household, an innocent expression on his face.

"I'm being serious Lumiere," said Cogsworth, the tension in the room still remaining, despite the fact that the guests were once again dancing gracefully about the dance floor.

"He does not seem that rattled," replied Lumiere in a relaxed manner. "You always expect the worst, my friend."

"That's because he is surrounded by company at present and everyone was here to see it take place! If he had found that old woman when alone," Cogsworth shivered before continuing, "I hate to think how he would have reacted. She is extremely fortunate to have gotten away with so little punishment."

"Perhaps," said Lumiere nonchalantly, keen to steer the conversation elsewhere so he would not have to deal with Cogsworth's neurotic behaviour any further. "Have you thought further about what to do with our new scullery maid? Plumette tells me that the girl reads. An interesting, unique little thing isn't she? Mrs Potts and I agree that she's probably more intelligent than half the illiterate debutantes invited here tonight."

"Mrs Potts described these ladies as illiterate?" spluttered Cogsworth incredulously.

"Of course not, I was embellishing," said Lumiere with annoyance, frustrated at his counterpart's narrow-mindedness. "The point is, you cannot leave the poor girl stuck in the kitchens forever. She has way too much potential to remain as a scullery maid."

"It's been barely half a month! Besides, what you view as potential, I view as trouble."

"You view everything as trouble," said Lumiere flatly, just as a young lady in white walked past with her chaperone, smiling flirtatiously at him, which Lumiere returned by giving her a charming smile and subtle wink. The girl started to giggle but her chaperone tapped her on the shoulder firmly with a fan, abruptly putting an end to her outburst.

Cogsworth grumbled about something to do with etiquette and moral standing, just as the Prince came into their view. It was hard to make out his expression, but he was slowly making his way towards the doorway, ignoring the advances of the young ladies with a polite turn of the hand. The gentlemen had returned to the ballroom, recognizing that the Prince's dance had finished, since the entrance to the ballroom was once again open. They seemed eager to dance with the ladies, even if the Prince was not.

Of course, this only meant one thing.

"He's chosen somebody already? Despite all that commotion and only briefly dancing one waltz?" said Cogsworth incredulously, as he watched the master gesture swiftly towards Lumiere.

Even though he had not looked once towards them, somehow he had known where they were, secluded behind the musicians.

"Apparently so," replied Lumiere with a brief shrug of his shoulders before leaving Cogsworth's side and making his way towards the Prince. "More accurately, however, would be to say that he has chosen several."

"Unbelievable," breathed Cogsworth, before making his way towards the guards standing by the terrace, who looked fairly disgruntled.

….

As the ballroom doors closed, the Prince let out a long overdue sigh of relief. He thoroughly enjoyed being adored, but sometimes he felt a weird sort of tension within his upper body whenever the music stopped and the people started whispering and women started hiding their expressions behind their little fans. The Prince had the unfortunate fault of always believing that conversation and interest revolved around himself and himself only.

He was partially correct of course. The only difference was that he knew perfectly well that they weren't talking about his appearance, or even his behaviour, but rather his considerable wealth. That was all that mattered.

And he liked it that way. As long as they didn't talk about _him_ specifically, he couldn't care less.

Unlike that beggar woman, who had looked at him in a very strange and disturbing manner.

He had been tempted of course to scold her harder, but he had his image to think of, and it would have been highly inappropriate to let the ridiculous situation progress any further.

He was thoroughly disappointed in his staff, all of them staring and standing about like idiots, not reacting immediately to get rid of her. Instead, he had been left to deal with the old hag himself.

Strutting down the portrait gallery, the Prince looked directly ahead, ignoring the grand portraits of his ancestors, who hung on the walls, silently watching him.

He would have to have a serious talk with Cogsworth later, but for now he wanted to forget about the entire thing and simply distract himself with wine and women.

There was entertainment for later; he had seen to that by speaking to Lumiere and picking out three half decent ones from the sea of contenders. They would understand the situation and be brought up later to the West Wing.

He could vaguely hear the ball going on, the strings distant and echoing across the hallway hauntingly. He could hear vague laughter and clinking of champagne flutes….

 _I warn you, Your Highness. Do not be so easily deceived by appearances, for true beauty is found within…._

The old woman's voice crept into his head, taking advantage of the relative silence which he, unfortunately, found himself in.

The Prince slowed down his pace as he noticed that he was gritting his teeth and gripping his hands so hard that he was leaving marks on his palms.

What he found confusing was the fact that the old hag had managed to come through the terrace.

He knew, as did the staff, that it was impossible to get up there, for it was simply a balcony area. There was no way the ugly crone could have climbed up the turrets or secretly slipped into the ballroom because there were guards stationed outside the terrace, as well as outside the ballroom itself.

None of it made any sense, and the longer the Prince thought about it, the more frustrated he became.

The rose had been odd too.

What in god's name the old woman had been thinking when offering it to him, he did not know, but she had surely been mad or insane. Why would she offer something that had absolutely no value at all? A simple garden flower?

Shaking his head, the Prince switched his mood by smiling to reassure himself before picking up his pace once more.

She wouldn't bother him any further. It had been a weird, out of body experience that he just happened to stumble across.

It was over, and it would be a waste of his time and energy to linger upon it any further.

They were just words, meaningless…

Thankfully he finally reached his destination, the 'billard' room. The Prince glanced at the mirror hanging by the door, before taking a long look at himself.

Still wearing his devilish mask, the Prince marveled at his intimidating appearance. Anybody else might have felt too self-conscious to take on such an outlandish look, but the young man staring at his own reflection felt none of that.

He only saw power and beauty before him.

Turning the doorknob, the Prince stepped into the smoky room, where several gentlemen were either conversing or playing a game of billiards.

Clearing his throat, he made himself known and silence fell across the salon.

He did not even have to lift a finger. Everyone knew whose presence he accepted in private, and for those whom he did not accept, knew that they would have to quite the area immediately. They made their way swiftly out of the room without complaint, each nobleman swiftly bowing towards the Prince respectfully as they passed by him.

As the door shut quietly behind the last to leave, the Marquis de Bayon, Jean-Armand, who had been lounging on an emerald green sofa, drunkenly turned his head slightly and made this remark.

"You know that you're the only person who can get away with that and not be hated for it."

"I know," replied the Prince with a smirk before making his way further into the room. "I'm exhausted."

"Really?" remarked another of the Prince's close acquaintances, Augustin, as he took a shot on the billiard board. "I'm surprised that you didn't dance afterwards to try and bring people's spirits up again. The ladies looked very disappointed when you left the ballroom."

"Is that so," said the Prince, sounding bored. "I didn't really notice."

"Nonsense," scoffed Jean, lifting himself off the canapé to fix himself a drink. "You notice everything, you're just good at looking disinterested, that's all."

"I take that as a compliment," replied the man in question before taking a sip of his wine and picking up a billiard stick.

"That old beggar woman was quite something," blurted the Marquis, as he drained a glass of champagne all in one go. "I wasn't there of course, but I heard the commotion from outside. Someone told me she offered you a rose."

"Yes, the woman was probably insane," replied the Prince reluctantly. "Regardless, it has been dealt with. She did not cause too much disruption."

"Beggars, paupers, I swear they're all nuts," observed the Marquis with a smirk before coming towards the table to observe the game. "God forbid what the villagers are like. Personally, I stay as far away from such places."

"Yes indeed," replied the Prince nonchalantly, raising his eyebrows in approval.

"Still, I envy you," continued Jean, placing his stubby hands on the table, "Getting your own dance, having your pick of the girls, and not needing to worry that your reputation."

"Well, not every debutante whom I wished to see came to the ball tonight," said the Prince, frowning as he proceeded to apply chalk to the tip of his cue stick. "I suppose not all of them wants to become a mistress, even to a future Duke."

"Then they are fools," sniggered Jean, shaking his head.

"Except you're even worse, Your Highness, because you don't even have the patience to keep a mistress," chuckled Augustin as he poured himself some wine from a decanter, which lay on a silver tray on top of a chest of drawers.

"I just don't have any interest in women who enjoy speaking more than pleasing me," replied the Prince irritably, giving his friend a withering look. If anybody else had spoken to him in such a manner, he would have probably throttled them. "Is that really so disagreeable?"

"No," said Augustin simply, "I'd say that's pretty normal. But now, given the circumstances…"

Jean gave Augustin a warning look, urging him to stop talking. Clearly, he was entering taboo territory.

"What circumstances," snapped the Prince, glaring at the billiard table, actively avoiding his childhood friend's gaze.

"You know what mean," sighed Augustin, making his way around the table to take another shot. "When you finally become Duke, you'll have to take on responsibilities-"

"I know that," interjected the Prince, his brilliant blue eyes ablaze as he slammed down his crystal glass onto the table. "I don't need reminding…. But that does not mean that I have to get married right this instant."

"No," replied Augustin, his face passive, "but you will have to, eventually."

The Prince heard his friend's cautionary words but he desperately tried to block them from his mind. He was starting to find this all tiresome.

"I think I have grown bored of this game," he spoke, before dropping his cue stick noisily onto the floor. "I shall retire."

"Already?" questioned Jean, looking fairly bleary eyed.

The Prince did not even bother to answer, he simply opened the door to leave before giving his 'friend' one last scathing look.

"You are my dearest friend Augustin and I owe you very much, but if you mention or even allude to that odious cretin ever again, I swear, I will sever all acquaintance with you."

And with that, he quit the room.

The marquis let out a low whistle in response before lying down on the divan once more. Augustin remained motionless, still staring at the door.

"Well, if he wasn't happy before he came in, he certainly isn't happy now," observed the drunk Marquis, folding his arms across his chest. He was almost certainly going to end up remaining there for the rest of the night.

"It's probably because of that beggar woman," said Augustin quietly, slowly picking up the cue stick off the carpeted floor. "She might have said something to set him off, perhaps reminded him of his father."

Jean shuddered at the mention of the late Duke.

"That man was a monster. If I were his son, I wouldn't have attended his funeral. Do you remember, as boys, hearing him scold and beat Adam, whenever he ran away from his studies to come and play with us outside? I'd never seen a man that angry before. He had a temper like a ferocious lion. Even my own father wasn't that strict."

"Even so," sighed Augustin, leaning against the billiard table, "he needs to prepare himself for what is to come. He can't remain the way he is forever."

"What do you suppose he's off doing now?"

"Isn't it obvious," replied Augustin bitterly. "He's probably going to take advantage of some poor innocent girl."

"He's not really into those though is he?" yawned Jean, not catching his friend's obvious disapproval of the Prince's actions.

"Yes, you're right actually. He's probably going to go prey on some illiterate airheads who'll open their legs freely and give him no grief, nor force him to use that brilliant brain of his."

The marquis did not reply immediately, but instead stared quizzically for a moment at Augustin, who was angrily putting away the cue sticks, his back turned away.

"You care about him, don't you?"

"Of course I do," replied Augustin melancholically, slowly turning to look at the tipsy Marquis. "I practically view him as a brother. But he needs to grow up, and I'm afraid that he never will. The boy we knew as children is slowly ebbing away, and that is what I fear the most."

"What, that he'll turn into his father," scoffed Jean before leaning back and closing his eyes.

"Exactly," said Augustin quietly after a slight pause, just as the Marquis began to snore.

…..

He hadn't wanted to venture beyond his lair.

After a satisfying night and day, he simply wanted to rest, but the three countesses insisted on seeing the ballroom once more.

He had played and flirted with them, taking them as far as the staircase which led down to where portrait gallery was situated, and he would have turned away, if not for the sound of the ballroom doors shutting.

Of course, the ladies did not notice, but his acute sense of hearing picked up on the slight sound that echoed far away.

Someone was in the ballroom.

In the middle of the night.

The Prince tightened his grip on the arm of Madame Courtois, who proceeded to moan and lean towards him.

"Monsieur, you have such strong hands."

"Do you want to see the ballroom or not?" snapped the Prince, glaring at her through the darkness.

"Of course," she stammered, perplexed at his sudden change in mood. Only moments before he had been kissing his way up her thigh in the bedroom.

"Then come along," he growled before pulling her along.

As they made their way down the portrait gallery, the Prince blocked out the ladies excited voices, his heartbeat rising at the thought that the old beggar woman had returned.

If so, he was going to murder Cogsworth in the morning…

"Here we are," muttered the Prince as they approached the ballroom entrance.

One of the women remarked on something, but he paid them no attention, hastily opening the ballroom doors to inspect the inside.

Moving his eagle-like gaze across the ballroom, the Prince ignored the ladies who were dancing about the dance floor, and concentrated on attempting to find whether anything was amiss.

It was then that he noticed the painting…

….

The candlelight flickered wildly across the woman's face as the Prince pushed her up against the wall. From what he could make out from the limited light coming from the candelabra in his hand, she was just a dull brunette with a petite face, wearing servant's clothing and currently turning her head to the side, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. No doubt she was blinded by the light, which he had deliberately thrust into her face, but also fearful of what was going to become of her.

The Prince smiled maliciously, satisfied at her obvious discomfort.

Good. She ought to be scared.

He had been expecting to see one of the maids. Perhaps, if he had been lucky, one of the prettier ones, but this was a new face, one he hadn't seen before.

He felt her flinch as the candle danced dangerously close to her skin but she barely moved because of his iron grip. She had surprisingly supple flesh for a woman past her bloom.

Sighing exasperatedly, he gave a weary, sideways glance at the portrait of his late father. As much as he enjoyed watching the wench suffer, he was also an impatient man, and he wanted to get this over and done with. He would punish her however he saw fit and then be done with her. Perhaps he would send her to one of the insane asylums. He'd never considered that as a form of punishment before…

She was guilty. Of that, he was absolutely sure.

Lowering the light in his hand, he turned his gaze lazily back towards the insolent piece of filth in front of him.

And nearly dropped the candelabra onto the floor.

Two youthful, almond shaped eyes were staring at him, widening in shock as he stared right back.

The Prince blinked and felt his throat tighten, just as he was about to speak.

For this creature which he had pushed unceremoniously up against the wall was not at all what he had pictured.

This wasn't some middle-aged woman with fading hair and a weary expression on her face, as he had first assumed her to be.

This girl was young. Not an adolescent, but she also didn't look like the maids that frequently gave him flirtatious glances whenever he was about the castle.

No, she was…

She was a beauty.

The girl was breathing heavily, her bosom rising and falling, and he could feel her trembling underneath his hand. She wasn't much in terms of height, her delicate nose barely reaching the top of his shoulders.

That explained why she had managed to hide for so long without giving herself away. He almost had to stop himself from smirking at her little achievement.

Her loose brown hair was nothing spectacular, but she reminded him of a bird in a cage, a restless creature teeming with life but unable to escape from its prison, unable to fly free of the shackles it found itself in.

It was those eyes…..

He'd been about to start his speech, the usual nonsense where he would threaten her, force to do something, frighten her, just to amuse himself for a while.

He had been expecting to see fear in those chestnut brown eyes, but instead what he found there was amazement.

Perhaps even curiosity.

Not the way that the countless debutantes looked fascinated when they stared at him at the ball. Not the way the dukes and marquis' looked at him whenever he journeyed to Paris and dipped in society a little, for reputation's sake.

No.

She looked at him as if he were some odd, foreign creature that she had just discovered, not a Prince. Any other young lady would have looked away, blushing with embarrassment or at least fear, but this girl's gaze was so steady and unyielding. It was as if she knew exactly what lay beyond his own gaze, and yet she did not even flinch at whatever she saw there.

It was unsettling, to say the least.

This girl, whoever she was, was peculiar.

Not that the Prince really gave this a second thought. He brushed aside this surprisingly nuanced observation just as quickly as it had first entered his mind, and turned his attention back to the woman standing in front him.

She had a pretty face, more than he had bargained for. He would go light on her.

Nevertheless, he wasn't about to let her get away with what she had done.

The Prince tightened his grip ever so slightly and hardened his gaze.

She no doubt got the message, for the curiosity which had seemed to radiate from her eyes a minute ago quickly dissipated and was replaced by that of bland resignation.

The Prince felt himself relax, and yet felt oddly disappointed at her change of expression, although he couldn't understand why.

"Why are you here, answer me," he said evenly, his voice low but clear.

"I," stammered the girl, whose voice was surprisingly present, and not feeble and high pitched, as he had been expecting. "I- I'm sorry, Your Highness- "

Without warning, the Prince let go of the girl, which resulted in her slumping inelegantly to the ground.

Not showing any signs of pain nor hurt, the girl merely proceeded to bow her head and put her hands on the marble floor, not giving so much as a whimper as she did so.

There was something disgustingly noble about the way she acted, that the Prince began to feel unpleasant bitterness at the back of his throat and anger rise within him. What did she think she was? A saint?

"Please forgive me, Your Highness, I did not know- "

"What is your name?" he said flatly, keeping his voice bored as he started to pace the floor, his back turned towards her.

"Belle, sir," she replied, her voice surprised.

For the second time, the Prince had to stop himself from smiling. Nevertheless, he couldn't resist offering one sly comment.

"Of course, it is," he muttered to himself, not sparing the specimen before him a glance.

"Sir?"

"Keep your mouth shut," he growled before turning back to walk towards her once more. "I presume that you are a maid."

"Yes sir," replied Belle swiftly, bowing her head once more.

He found this incredibly distracting, not to mention annoying, although he couldn't figure out why.

"And it was you who lifted the curtain off this portrait and placed this rose in front of it?"

"Yes sir, but I-"

"Do not interrupt," interjected the Prince, his voice measured but as hard as stone. He did not need to shout, like other men, in order to command respect.

"Stand," he continued nonchalantly after a moment, as he looked down at the girl on the floor, her pale face hidden by her dark hair. She almost looked like a mystical water sprite in the moonlight.

The girl did as she was told, but directed her gaze stubbornly on to the ground. As the Prince came closer towards her, he noticed that she was blushing. After a moment, he lifted his index finger to her chin and turned her face gently upwards.

Having discarded the candelabra, it was harder to make out her face purely by the moonlight, but the Prince was eager to make her look at him, something she was clearly avoiding. He felt slightly frustrated by it, but no matter, he would succeed either way.

He always did….

"So you were interested in the ball, is that it?" he whispered, bringing her face closer. "Having come to this castle, leaving behind whatever filthy place it is that you originate from, you found yourself fascinated and enthralled by how much joy and happiness surrounds this place of heaven, where angels reside?"

After a moment, he expected her to nod and smile.

But she did neither of these things.

Belle, if that was indeed her name, proceeded to frown in response to his remarks and turned her heated gaze towards him.

She spoke very slowly and very quietly.

"This is no place of joy, and you are no angel."

The Prince stood, completely stunned by the young maid's response.

He felt his smug expression slide off his face, only to be replaced by a look of complete astonishment.

And as she stared back, he saw in those brown eyes a look of defiance, satisfaction, perhaps…. even victory.

This he could not allow.

He saw red as his grip on her chin tightened ever so slightly.

"You are right. I am no angel," he snarled. "You have no right to be here, you're just a piece of dirt. No, you're lower than dirt. You're a scullery maid."

Despite his poisonous words, she did not flinch. She did not even blink.

"If you want to keep your 'position', if you can even call it that, you will do as I say," he continued.

Belle had the impudence to raise her eyebrows, but the Prince paid no heed.

"You are going to follow me to the West Wing, where I will ask you to take off these dirty rags which you currently sport. You will then proceed to lie on the bed and let me do to you whatever I so wish. I presume that you understand what I allude to, even though I'm guessing you're a virgin, judging by the way you just gasped?"

He spoke as if he were commenting on the weather, and was glad to see that it had a positive effect on the girl because she was currently gaping like a goldfish.

"I don't like virgins, but in this special case, given what you have just done, I think it's fairly understandable that this level of punishment is required."

Belle opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.

"Oh, there's no need to respond," he continued smugly, smiling reassuringly, "I can assure you that you will enjoy every minute of it."

The girl proceeded to frown and grit her teeth in anger, and before the Prince had any time to respond, she spoke.

"How dare you!" spat Belle, finally shoving the Prince away from her.

She had surprising strength, something he hadn't anticipated, as he stumbled backwards.

"You may be a Prince, and I may be a maid, but you must be completely insane to think I would do any such thing, no matter what rules I have broken! I would rather quit this place entirely than lie with you!"

The Prince stared at the girl, and this time it was _he_ who could not form any coherent words.

She must be the insane one, not him.

Simply put, the Prince had never received such a response before. In fact, he doubted that he had ever been rejected before.

"You're rejecting me," he breathed, utterly shocked at the young woman's outburst.

Belle was breathing heavily from exertion, but she did not reply, merely staring at the Prince defiantly, her chin turned slightly upward.

The Prince couldn't explain it in words, but he felt that her resistance only spurred him on. There was something about her that drew him towards her; her stubbornness and boldness. It was somehow infuriating and intoxicating all at the same time.

"You will be punished accordingly," growled the Prince, approaching her once more.

This time she did step back a little hesitantly and grabbed hold of her dress in a defensive manner. This was pleasing. At least he had some effect on her.

"You may think this is over little dove," he began, slowly forcing her to back up against the panelled wall behind her. "But this is far from resolved. Unfortunately, I have taken an interest in you."

Belle looked up at him with defiant eyes as he lifted his hand once more and slowly grazed her cheek with the back of his hand.

He heard her gasp slightly at the contact, and her rosy cheek was surprisingly warm.

He felt a sudden urge to continue caressing her, even though she would probably have resisted him.

Strange. He usually had no interest in such affectionate gestures.

Managing to control himself, he let his hand gently slide off before stepping backwards.

He heard her sigh with relief before sagging against the wall.

It was then that something within him snapped.

It was probably to do with the fact that she had clearly not felt what he had just then. Gritting his teeth, he stared at her bitterly.

Was he really that despicable?

Blinking, he glanced towards the portrait of his father and suddenly realized who he was.

He was a Prince, a man of nobility, who could do whatever he so wished. He didn't need to think of this wench's feelings, much less care about etiquette where she was concerned.

She was a maid.

He felt something ugly rise within himself as he approached her once more, and this time he did not restrain himself. Slamming his hand against the wall beside her, he grabbed her jaw roughly and forced her to look at him.

He didn't care anymore. Let her fear, let her think he was a monster. It didn't matter, as long as he got want he wanted.

He began to speak when something stopped him in his tracks.

He felt her tremble.

Staring into her warm, pleading eyes, he felt his anger quickly dissipate and his grip slacken slightly. He'd heard of noblemen forcing themselves onto unwilling young women, but he had never agreed with such actions. There was nothing enjoyable in seeing a woman suffer like that, and though he was perhaps an immoral man, he would never stoop so low.

Looking down at the small creature in front of him however, he realized that she believed that to be his design.

He hadn't anticipated her resistance when ordering her to follow him, because no female had ever rejected his advances before.

And as she stood there, staring at him in pure fear, he realized that this was not what he wanted at all.

For some reason, she did not see what every other lady saw when they looked at him. This strange woman, Belle, did not see a Prince.

She saw him, as he was, and had miraculously made him forget too that he was a Prince.

It was clear, judging by the fear in her eyes, that she saw a monster.

And of course, she was right.

"Get out," he whispered, feeling moisture in his eyes as he let go of her.

Belle stood frozen on the spot, still looking up at him. She was staring at him again as she had done when he had first looked at her. That look of curiosity…

He couldn't stand it. He wished nothing more than for her to disappear and not look at him, not as he was at present, a complete and utter mess.

"Get out!" he roared, looking down at the ground in defeat and yet causing her to flinch.

She didn't need to be told a third time.

Quickly ducking under his arm, Belle fled the ballroom as quickly as she could, unable to even believe what had just happened.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: Sorry for the late update! Back at university so things are a bit hectic, but I promise you all this story is far from finished, as I hope this chapter will prove. I realized that Maurice and Belle don't have a surname haha, I might give them something in further chapters, as well as a family name for the Prince, we shall see. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Please review, follow and favourite as always. It's truly amazing how supportive you all are. Your comments are like presents at Christmas :P Happy reading everyone!

Chapter 7

As the days passed, Maurice began to despair and lose all hope. Although D'Arque had promised that the Head of Household would contact, no word had come about what had become of Belle.

But then, one morning, quite unexpectedly, he found a letter had been left on his doorstep.

Although short and to the point, the information given confirmed his daughter was safe and sound, working in the kitchens beneath the castle.

Maurice had never felt such relief in all his life. Perhaps it was because for the first time in weeks he felt he could genuinely breathe in properly. In any case, he decided to make his way into the village in the evening and pay an unusual visit to the local tavern. The drinkers were likely to laugh and jeer at him, but he was in need of beer and was certain that nothing in the world could possibly ruin his mood. His daughter was protected. That was all that mattered for now.

Nevertheless, his convictions were about to be tested.

Staring down at the crumpled letter in his hand, Maurice reread the words once more as he sat in the corner of the tavern, hidden from view.

 _Dear Monsieur,_

 _My name is Monsieur Cogsworth and I am the current Head of Household. I am writing to inform you that your daughter has taken up the position of scullery maid and is currently working in the kitchens under the command of Mrs Potts, Head Housekeeper. Your daughter has her own private quarters at present, and, should she do well, may be promoted to a higher position in the future._

 _I am aware of your situation and the reasons behind your daughter's wish to work here. Please do not be alarmed as this is a very common situation many village occupants are currently grappling with. I am confident that your daughter will do well here and be able to pay off your family's debts in due course._

 _As to how long she will have to work here, that will depend on the quality of work she will be able to produce and which positions she will be assigned to in the future. Monsieur D'Arque has informed me of how much you are in debt, however it is still impossible to inform you at present as to how long it will take till your family can afford to pay back what you owe._

 _I shall be keeping in touch and will inform you immediately should your daughter's position change._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Monsieur Cogsworth_

Lifting his head, Maurice smiled to himself with reassurance. Fortunately, that night the occupants of the establishment merely whispered and snickered amongst themselves, and didn't do much to disturb him. One could never tell what the atmosphere in the tavern was going to be like; it depended so much on who was present, for this could fluctuate it quite severely.

Maurice stared out of the window as the man in charge of the tavern gingerly came up to the table to ask him what he wished to drink.

The bartender, Pierre, was unused to Maurice's presence but nonetheless felt more sympathetic towards the old man than most of the other villagers, and after taking his order, asked the elderly father why he had decided to come to the tavern.

"I just received a letter from the castle," replied Maurice, smiling warmly. "Belle is well, and working in the kitchens."

"That's good to hear," said Pierre, giving a genuine smile. "You might not have known because you were cooped up in your cottage for, er, well, a relatively long time, but people were getting quite worried about her. She just disappeared. People speculated that maybe she had started to work at the castle because of, er-"

"My debts?" said Maurice, completely unfazed as he put an end to Pierre's awkward ramblings.

Looking at the poor bartender struggling to form an adequate response, Maurice patted the young man's arm and decided to put him out of his misery.

"It's ok Pierre, it is what it is. I would have never have thought to send her there but D'Arque-"

"D'Arque forced her to go to the castle?"

Maurice whipped his head around to see none other than D'Arque himself enter through the tavern entrance, his dark gaze fixed on the old man, his eyes like bottomless pits of coal.

"I hope that wasn't what you meant," continued the debtor lightly as he plopped himself onto a chair not far from Maurice. "I merely offered her a job after all. She could have turned it down."

"You knew she wouldn't though," replied Maurice dispiritedly, feeling unspoken anger rise within himself.

"Now, now, gentlemen," said Pierre hastily, shaking his hands through the air in a vain attempt to calm down the heated conversation. "Let's try not to make a scene."

Before either had any time to respond however, the tavern door swung open once more as a cold gust of wind swept in.

"Gaston!"

The entire tavern erupted with joy and laughter as the hero of the town, Gaston himself, stepped into the establishment, followed by his weasel-like 'friend' LeFou.

Sporting his classic red leather jacket and gold buckled shoes, he made his way through the tavern looking every part the classic hero, like the hunter in the fairy-tale where he saved the little red riding hood from the terrifying wolf's clutches.

It may sound like an overstatement, but he was, truly, a war-hero in every sense of the word, and thoroughly deserved being called so, for he had won countless battles. Beginning as a nameless soldier when he was nothing more than a scrawny teenager, he had managed to elevate his status to that of 'Captain', and had lead countless men into battle. He had, for most part, returned victorious almost every single time.

Although the daring stories he told in the tavern night after night may have sounded a little fictitious to the likes of Maurice, one could not deny that they were largely based on fact.

The man was fearless and unafraid of even death.

Most of the villagers admired him for his qualities, but for Maurice and Belle, they personally felt his lack of fear equalled to a lack of imagination and that that was precisely why he seemed to fear nothing and charge head first into enemy fire, or so he said.

Not that Belle and her father were experts when it came to matters concerning the military, but let's just say they were not as easily impressed as the other habitants of Villeneuve.

Something which nagged Gaston to an irksome degree, although he would never fully admit it to himself.

He was, to say the least, more than a little astonished when Belle had first rejected his marriage proposal.

He had known for quite some time that a certain young lady had become the talk of the town, and while he had been away at war, he had longed to return to Villeneuve to see this mysterious maiden. If she was everything that people claimed her to be, then he was determined to make her his, one way or another.

When he'd returned from the war, he was astonished to learn the woman everybody had been talking about was none other than the strange daughter of the mad old cote who lived at the very edge of the village.

He already knew the girl of course; it was Belle, the awkward little thing who had always been reading, hunched up in the corner, mostly never speaking to anyone and staying largely invisible. The villagers never noticed her because she didn't play with the other children, mainly because the boys were busy at school, and the girls would pick on her due to her unorthodox upbringing. Most of the villagers hardly saw her because she was always at home; Gaston had occasionally heard the various parents gossiping to each other that her father was mad and filling her head up with strange ideas about women having the ability to do more than cook, sow, clean, marry and bear children.

As the years passed, she began to appear out and about more often, however she had been secluded for too long and most didn't even bother to interact with her.

Gaston was just like everyone else. He had never paid much attention to her because he was older, and only remembered her mostly as a child. During her teenage years, he was prone to looking at the more obvious girls who frequently pranced about the village square during the late summer afternoons.

But when he was off fighting in yet another war, this time determined to be promoted to the position of Captain, he was astonished to learn through his correspondence with Pierre, the manager of the Villeneuve tavern which he owned, that there was a young woman who had grown into quite a beauty while he had been away.

Gaston supposed that it could be possible that he had overlooked a few creatures; after all, these wars tended to last quite a long time, and he was typically away for a year, sometimes even two or three years.

Returning to Villeneuve in the autumn, Gaston first caught a glimpse of the beautiful young woman in the market square and from that moment on, Gaston decided his next goal, having now been successfully promoted to that of Captain, would be to woo and marry Belle.

He thought this would be a simple task which could be achieved within, say, a couple of days.

He was wrong.

The girl was surprisingly arrogant and stubborn, not that this put him off in any sort of way.

He viewed it as a challenge, and he always enjoyed a challenge.

He tried once again, twice, even three times over the course of a couple months. He used all the effective tactics to try and win her over, but nothing worked.

Inexplicably, he found himself in a conundrum. It had been enjoyable at first, even humorous.

But then Maurice had had to go into debt, and Gaston's plans were dashed in an instant.

What was he to do?

With Belle gone, he thought at first that he could have gone to save her from whoever's clutches it was that she had unfortunately found herself in.

But there had been whispers that she had ended up in that 'castle' and was currently working for….

"Gaston?"

"Huh?"

Gaston looked up as a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Are you alright?" asked his closest acquaintance, LeFou. They were sitting by the bar, and Pierre was staring at him in a questioning manner.

"What would you like Monsieur?" asked Pierre as he wiped a glass in his right hand. "It's on the house."

"You know what I want," said Gaston charmingly, giving Pierre a confident grin, as the bartender nodded respectively and moved smoothly away.

"What were you thinking about?" asked LeFou as he tried to get up to the barstool, not exactly the easiest thing to do for a man of his height.

"Oh, you know," sighed Gaston, dropping the smile. Although he wouldn't exactly call LeFou his dearest friend, he could confide in him without feeling guilty or embarrassed in anyway.

"Oh?" replied LeFou, lifting his eyebrows. His friend seemed surprisingly low today.

"Belle," stated Gaston, as Pierre brought over to him his much-needed beer.

"Ah," said LeFou with understanding. "Well, it's too bad what happened there."

"I'm not giving up yet," said Gaston indignantly, frowning at LeFou. "You see her father sitting over there, looking profoundly happy."

LeFou turned around and squinted into the darkness, attempting to try and search for the old man across the low-lit tavern.

"Over there you idiot," spat Gaston hoarsely, roughly turning LeFou's head to face the right direction towards Maurice, who was sitting by himself in a corner, smiling down at a piece of parchment.

"Oh, I can see him!" said LeFou, giving Gaston a jubilant smile, which Gaston responded to by rolling his eyes exasperatedly before getting up.

"Stay here," he ordered before making his way towards Maurice. He hesitantly made eye contact with D'Arque as he passed by, whose table was not that far from Maurice's.

Gaston narrowed his eyes as D'Arque stared at him with what looked like pity or perhaps even humour. Most of the villagers, including those in the tavern tonight, generally gazed at him with admiration and pure joy, as if grateful that he even bothered to make eye contact with them at all. Gaston enjoyed this kind of attention thoroughly.

D'Arque, however, seemed to look at him as if he were an idiot, but Gaston could never condemn him for it because it was so subtle that he didn't know what to make of it. D'Arque respected him as much as any of the other villagers, but Gaston wondered whether he knew more than he was letting on.

For now, he turned his head towards more pressing matters. Namely, the pathetic old man in front of him who was going to tell him what had happened precisely to his future wife.

"Good evening Maurice," said Gaston, coming up to pose in front of Maurice's table.

"Good evening Gaston," replied the painter, bracing himself as he looked up at the local war hero.

"I heard from the villagers that your daughter has left Villeneuve."

"That would be correct," replied Maurice, avoiding Gaston's gaze by looking at the top of the young man's raven black hair. This was another feature which added to the Captain's rather intimidating look.

"Where is she exactly?" pressed Gaston, giving Maurice his classic disarming smile.

"She is working, at the Prince's castle."

"Oh," replied Gaston, giving off a fake look of surprise. "That is unfortunate."

"Unfortunate?" repeated Maurice, furrowing his brow. "How is that unfortunate?"

"Well, I suppose the reason she is there is because you have run into some debt?" sighed Gaston pretentiously as he slumped into the chair opposite Maurice.

Maurice formed incoherent words as Gaston nodded his head with false melancholy.

"You know that this could have all been cleared up if she had only accepted my marriage proposal."

Maurice stared at Gaston in disbelief but the young man did not appear to notice, so caught up in his speech.

"I could have paid off all your debts, and Belle would have been in a position of financial security, especially as I am now of the rank of Captain. But instead…"

"You could still marry her now though, couldn't you?"

Gaston froze, mid-monologue. Looking up in outrage, his expression swiftly changing into that of confusion as Maurice stared back at him with exact same expression on his face.

Gaston quickly realized it hadn't been the old man who'd spoken.

Turning around, he eyes met with those of D'Arque, which were glinting teasingly in the dark.

"What?" snapped Gaston, his previous easy going persona gone in a flash.

"You could marry her," replied D'Arque, his voice as light as air as he puffed on his cigar. "You could go to the castle, offer her your hand. She wouldn't have to work there anymore."

"It's not that simple," said Gaston after a moment, his voice tense.

"Why not?" prompted D'Arque, leaning slowly against the wall behind him. "I think you have enough influence. I mean, look, your portrait is on the wall."

He gestured slowly towards the painting on the ceiling, one which depicted Gaston with his hand outstretched, wielding his sword in a pose that suggested victory after a long battle. Even so, his jacket was spotless, his hair styled fashionably in a debonair style.

As Gaston looked up at his portrait, he realized the tavern was unusually quiet. Looking around, he noticed that though most of the villagers had their heads down, it was abundantly clear they were listening to their conversation.

The war hero gritted his teeth before shifting his gaze back towards D'Arque, who was staring nonchalantly at Maurice, who, in turn, was frowning back at the debtor, utterly confused at the way the conversation was heading.

"I may be a Captain, but we all know the Prince's reputation. I can't just strut up to the castle and demand that one of their employers be removed."

"Is that so," replied D'Arque before dropping his gaze and lifting his glass to drink. "I thought you would have more confidence, but perhaps I was mistaken."

"What, exactly, is the point to your grumblings? What are you suggesting?" growled Gaston, leaning forward as he refused to let the idiotic man get away with his accusations.

"Nothing, sir," replied D'Arque, lifting his eyebrows. "Only I heard somewhere that you have a connection to that castle. Is it true?"

Gaston's face went white as a sheet. D'Arque continued to stare at him, his gaze unwavering.

The villagers pretended not to hear, but Gaston could hear them whispering.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied before letting out a haggard breath.

D'Arque remained thankfully unresponsive and Gaston turned back towards Maurice, who was staring at him with concern.

This was not at all how he had expected things to go.

"I still leave my offer of marriage open Maurice," he began, keeping his voice as pleasant as possible. "If you want your daughter to waste away in that fortress for the rest of her life then be my guest. If, however, you wish for her to return here as soon as possible and reclaim her freedom, then I recommend that you write to her and suggest to her that she become my wife so that you can pay off your debts and not leave the burden upon her."

With that, Gaston swiftly moved away from Maurice's table and back to the bar, where the villagers were waiting to sing for him and hear once again his thrilling tales of how he had finally become Captain.

"I'm guessing that you are not convinced," said D'Arque flatly, puffing on his cigar as he looked at the villagers who were surrounding Gaston like a swarm of flies around horse dung.

"No," said Maurice gruffly. The tavern had become noisy, something he did not appreciate, and after Gaston's blunt offer, he didn't feel like drinking any more.

"But he's right you know," said D'Arque, as he watched Maurice look sadly down at the flimsy piece of paper in his hand. "I did warn her about the place, but it was a better option than getting you killed."

"Killed?" whispered Maurice, looking up in horror.

"You don't know what the debtor prisons are like," said D'Arque with a sigh. "The manual labour… You wouldn't have lasted a day in there. And they would have come for Belle if you had died."

"I see," replied Maurice sadly. "I can partially see why you suggested the alternative now."

"She ought to be careful though. Gaston is right to be hesitant about going against the aristocracy. The Duke was a very powerful individual and if his son is anything like him, he will turn out to be much the same."

"But Belle is just a maid," replied Maurice in a whisper, trying in part to reassure himself. "She has nothing to do with them."

"She won't be a maid forever," said D'Arque quietly, this time turning to look at the concerned father seriously. "She's not exactly a wallflower, and definitely not an individual those working there would overlook. It works to her advantage to some extent, as she will be able to progress further, but on the other hand…"

D'Arque let his voice die as he watched Maurice sigh exasperatedly.

The artist took a swing from his beer tankard before turning to look the debt collector once more.

"What did you mean about the castle? How did you manage to provoke Gaston?"

"Ah, that," replied D'Arque, this time smirking and looking perhaps a little smug. "I just know a little about him that's all, I wanted to push his buttons since he was tormenting you. You and I might not get along, given what has happened to your daughter, but I know that we both don't exactly hold the highest opinion of that bigoted man who has the heart of a pig."

Maurice followed D'Arque's gaze to see Gaston standing on the long table, shouting at the top of his lungs as he continued to describe his daring tales to the thrilled crowd. His muddy boots left dirty marks all along the wooden surface, something which did not escape Pierre's notice.

"What exactly do you know about him?"

"Hmm?' replied D'Arque, looking drunkenly towards Maurice. "Oh, well, his family come from nobility, but they all fell from grace. Rumour has it, he knew the Prince a long time ago."

"Oh, is that so," said Maurice with surprise. "Is he not welcome there anymore?"

"I don't know, I only hear what I pick up while on my travels around the various villages."

Maurice nodded respectively, but he felt slightly disappointed. He wanted to know more.

But as he stared at the war hero who had now returned to the bar, he began to understand while he walked around with such a huge persona on his back. It was armour; a way to keep people at bay, to stop them from discovering things he didn't want them to know about.

To stop them from reading between the lines.

….

Belle shut the door behind her quietly and leaned against it, her heart still beating wildly.

What had just happened?

Sliding down to the stone floor, Belle shakily knit her fingers together as she tried to calm down by forcing herself to breathe slowly in and out. She would be thrown out of the castle by morning, there was no doubt of that. She had upset the Prince and broken god knows how many rules.

"I'm sorry papa," mumbled Belle, as she looked up at the ethereal moon. "I wasn't strong enough for this place."

Seeing the turrets of the castle above, just outside her window, she was reminded of the monster, whose clutches she had miraculously escaped from. Belle bit her inner cheek as she felt an uncomfortable pit in her stomach.

The Prince had acted as if what he'd asked of her were simple and nothing out of the ordinary. She had heard rumours from the maids, so it wasn't as if she were completely ignorant on the matter. She knew the Prince had had dalliances with maids before.

It was just that she had never understood why they gave in to him. She'd heard they accepted because they benefited from being in the Prince's good graces. He paid them handsomely and gave them better positions.

But….

Part of Belle felt slightly ashamed. Those maids were true survivors in a way. They sacrificed so much so they could live on. Belle, however, knew she could never give herself away like that, even if it left her as poor as the beggar woman she had met earlier.

Happiness…. Belle shook her head and smiled sadly to herself. While she appreciated the old woman's encouraging words, she felt happiness was something she was unlikely to be bestowed with in this life.

She would never be able to let herself take the easy path. If she could, she would already be married to Gaston.

Belle closed her eyes, and leant her forehead against her wrists. She attempted to forget the entire incident, but couldn't erase the sight of the Prince from her mind.

Piercing blue, like the sky on a clear winter's day….

There was, of course, another rather obvious reason why the maids let the Prince do what he liked.

Even Belle had eyes, although she quite rightly never fully trusted what she saw through them.

If the Prince on the night of the ball had looked alluring and mysterious, then the man she had just confronted was arresting and utterly hypnotic. Belle, who didn't put much stock in appearances, could not deny he was mostly likely not made of the same flesh and blood as most people.

With golden hair which seemed to glow in the moonlight, a roman-like jaw and strong, discerning brow, he looked like an otherworldly being, an angel.

Well, almost.

She could find no warmth in his crystal blue eyes, which had stared at her with such direct contempt and disgust that she was sure the room had instantly become colder.

No. Her first description of him on the night of the ball had been the most accurate. While Belle could not deny he reminded her of the princes she had imagined as a child, the knight in shining armour who saved damsels in distress, she knew the Prince resembled more the fallen angel, the devil himself, Lucifer. Angelic in appearance but….

His following actions more than confirmed this.

He was nothing like the Prince on the night of the ball, who'd paced the floor lazily, taking as much time as he wanted.

The strange creature who'd flung into a sudden rage and pinned her against the wall with such strength that Belle had no time to respond was the furthest thing from what Belle had witnessed from the balcony.

She had assumed he would be cool and collected, like he had been at the ball. Despite all of this however, his appearance, his jarring personality, he did not surprise her in the slightest.

She had simply wanted him to go away.

Even when he had ordered her upstairs, Belle still held her ground, and felt courage and conviction within. He was a Prince, but she had her own self-worth to think of. Despite his snarling and growling, she did not waver.

But then…

She didn't want to linger on the way he had looked at her. There was a moment when he had touched her cheek, lent his surprisingly warm hand against her skin with startling subtlety…

Belle let out a breath and opened her eyes.

What was that about… Unlike the beginning, he looked almost bewildered. As to why, she had no idea, but it made her feel uncomfortable.

Vulnerable.

Thankfully he stepped away after that. Maybe he had recognized her discomfort.

If only….

Shivering, Belle wound her arms tightly around herself as she remembered the moment when she thought he was going to leave, but then suddenly came back towards her like a predator, grabbing her face roughly, his eyes glittering with anger and fury.

That was the moment she truly became frightened, perhaps for the first time in her life.

The truth was, Belle always believed herself to be strong and resilient, and she'd never felt scared of any man before. It wasn't like she lacked experience. There were plenty of times in the village when some drunkard would come up to her and try to feel her skirts. She'd always managed to fend them off, even defend herself.

But….

There was something dangerous about the Prince, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was a powerful aristocrat and she was a mere scullery maid.

He was unpredictable, unhinged even. One moment he was smiling humorously down at her, the next he was sneering at her, then touching her with surprising gentleness…

It was frankly too much for Belle to process, but one thing was clear. The Prince was not at all what she had expected.

He had been staring at her in anger, and she had been sure he was going to assault her right there and then.

She didn't know why he had suddenly changed his mind and let her go, but she could only be glad that he had at least a small amount of mercy within himself. Perhaps he had taken pity on her, or realized that he could be caught, not that that would be legitimate reason to cause him concern. Belle was sure he could get away with anything.

But the way he had looked at her.

The torment and pain ridden on his face, the likes of which she had never seen before.

It was the very last thing she had expected to see in those sapphire eyes.

What could a Prince, who grew up with such privilege, surrounded by everything his heart could ever desire, know of struggle or misery? It didn't make any sense.

She wouldn't dare let herself think it, but she could swear he almost looked ashamed.

She could see why he kept people at bay. He didn't want people to see that side of him.

He pretended to be all high and mighty, but inside, he was just a weak and immature boy.

Belle sighed and lifted herself off the floor before scuffling slowly towards her bed. She wouldn't know it herself, but her deduction on the Prince was one very few in the castle had ever dared to make, except for those in the household who knew him best.

Belle had the rare ability of being able to see past the exterior and into the inner worlds of the people around her. It was this that had stumped the Prince, and left him sleepless for the rest of the night. She had achieved something nobody else had.

She had held up the mirror towards him and gotten the upper hand.

And it was about to have major consequences, beyond anything Belle could ever have imagined.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note: Thank you for all your support and comments – it means the world! I'm sorry for the late update, but I hope you all enjoy this instalment. I also just wanted to leave a quick reminder that this is a slow-paced story, so I'm afraid I will have to continue torturing you all with cliffhangers haha! So, if that's not really your thing, then I would kindly suggest that you read the other fantastic stories that make up the Batb section on this site (one of my favourites is 'Belle and Adam'). The reason for the slow-burn is mainly because I want to make this story as plausible as possible, and that means there has to be very specific reasons why Belle and Adam either run into each other or confront each other. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, please leave your thoughts in the review section and don't forget to like, follow and favourite! Happy reading everyone!

Chapter 8

By the time a couple of days had passed after the eventful night of the ball, most of the guests had left. Only the Prince's closest acquaintances remained, such as the Marquis of Bourbon and Monsieur Augustin Mansart. The castle was eerily quiet, but the staff assumed their master would soon enough gain his stamina and venture off to visit another aristocrat's residence and repeat the cycle all over again.

Much to Belle's astonishment, the morning after her encounter with the Prince came and went without much incident, and everyone acted as if nothing had happened, going about their business as usual.

The Prince, evidently, had decided not to report on what had happened. Either that or Cogsworth turned out to be a lot less neurotic than Belle had assumed him to be.

She wrestled for days over whether to inform Mrs Potts of the confrontation but she was hesitant to do so.

How could she explain it? Even Belle herself couldn't quite understand the reasons behind her actions. Why did she decide to venture up to the ballroom in the middle of the night? What had possessed her to follow through on such a crazy plan?

If the Prince had decided not to do anything, then that was that, and the last thing she wanted to do was to disrupt that calm by opening her mouth. She didn't know whether to be relieved or anxious that he had decided to say nothing.

The fact, however, that she couldn't read his actions made the whole situation that much worse. She found herself feeling constantly tense and kept expecting Cogsworth to turn up and announce that he was going to throw her out of the castle.

But confrontation never came.

Instead, Mrs Potts had miraculously decided one morning to assign her to work upstairs, something Belle would have felt overjoyed about a couple of days ago but now felt terrified about. She wanted to avoid the Prince as much as possible, and traipsing about the portrait gallery was not the way to do it.

If they ever encountered one another again, she was sure he would take the opportunity to expose her for breaking the household rules, as well as undermining his authority.

She would probably accept the first part of such criticisms, if not the second.

"Belle?"

"Yes, coming," she said as she finished buttoning her skirt.

"Hurry up, Mrs Potts is waiting for you!"

Belle rushed towards her door and opened it, revealing the Head Housemaid, Plumette, who stood with her arms folded, an impatient scowl plastered on her face.

"Finally," she said exasperatedly before grabbing Belle's arm. By now, our heroine had grown used to this kind of man-handling and, at least with Plumette, she allowed it. Bossy in nature the maid might be, but it always came from a good place. She cared perhaps a little too much about the wellbeing of those around her.

"She has been waiting for five minutes you know! The maids always start at six, remember that."

"But it's six now," replied Belle, but Plumette merely rolled her eyes, not slowing down her pace as they made their way through the hallway and up the golden staircase.

"You have to be up here by six, starting work," explained Plumette as they reached the portrait gallery, where Mrs Potts was waiting.

"Oh," breathed Belle, just as the Head Housekeeper greeted them good morning. She dressed as she always did, but looking fresh and spritely, as if she had already been up for hours.

"Good morning," replied Belle, giving Mrs Potts a little curtsy.

"Thank you for accepting to do this Belle; it is greatly appreciated."

"Not at all, it's my pleasure!"

"Come this way," gestured Mrs Potts, guiding them towards one of the rooms on the left-hand side of the gallery. "That will be all Plumette."

Plumette gave a quick curtsy before turning away and going back downstairs.

"Are you alright my dear?"

"Hmm?" responded Belle, turning back towards Mrs Potts, who was staring at her with a concerned look on her face.

"It's just that you seem different since the ball," continued Mrs Potts slowly. "You seem, what's the word, rather preoccupied about something."

Belle felt her hands begin to sweat as she tried her utmost to not avoid the Head Housekeeper's lingering gaze.

"Oh, I'm fine Mrs Potts, just a little tired that's all. I'm still trying to get used to my schedule."

"I see," replied the elderly lady, sounding rather unconvinced. "If you're sure."

Belle began to tap her heels nervously on the marble floor, and after an awkward moment of silence, she spoke.

"Um, where would you like me to start?"

"Usually the maids can handle the regular chores," explained Mrs Potts as she opened the main doors with a huff, "but given the number of guests who attended the ball, I'm afraid the staff are little overwhelmed, busy cleaning all the bedrooms and suites in which they stayed in."

Belle was nodding her head and listening attentively to Mrs Potts, but she couldn't help but gape in awe as she walked into the large drawing room. Filled with vibrantly coloured divans, spectacularly golden panelled walls and even an ornate harpsichord, which sat in a corner in front of a beautiful bookcase, the room was anything but humble.

Belle's eyes lingered on the bookcase just as Mrs Potts discreetly waited, silently watching Belle's reaction with warmth in her eyes.

"Yes, it is quite something, isn't it?"

Belle blinked and swerved her gaze back towards Mrs Potts, feeling a little embarrassed that she had become so caught up in the moment.

"Uh, yes," she mumbled, fumbling about with her skirt.

Mrs Potts chuckled before making her way towards the marble fireplace.

"What I need you to do throughout this morning is to clean out the fireplaces in all the rooms along the portrait gallery. It won't be too hard to do; after you've done it once you basically just repeat."

"And after I've finished?" asked Belle, looking up at the ceiling where a grand chandelier hung, very much like the one she saw in the ballroom.

Mrs Potts' eyes twinkled as they lingered on Belle, observing her blatant curiosity.

"Believe me, dear, this alone will take up most of the morning. I will come back and find you just before your lunch break. Marie and Claudette should be coming soon. They will explain everything and help you."

Belle nodded as she felt her throat tighten. She knew who they were but had never actually spoken to them before. Marie seemed like a nice enough person, but she wasn't too sure about Claudette. More than once, Belle had caught the shrewd woman talking about her in a rather disapproving manner. In the village, it was possible to walk away and ignore such talk, but here in the castle, where the very walls seemed to have ears, it seemed like that option wasn't available.

Just as Mrs Potts opened her mouth to speak, the doors opened, and two maids made their way into the drawing room. They wore the exact same attire as Belle; a simple grey frock, probably made to make the wearer seem as invisible as possible.

"Good morning Mrs Potts," said the blonde-haired one, giving a quick bob before rising, wearing a bright smile on her face. Belle felt it was genuine.

"Good morning Marie," replied Mrs Potts, tilting her head. "Good morning Claudette."

"Good morning," replied the taller brunette, giving a curt nod towards the Head Housekeeper. "What is she doing her?"

"Belle," replied Mrs Potts, emphasizing her name a little, "is here to help you today. Over the past couple of days, I have noticed the staff have been struggling to swiftly tidy up the castle after the ball which took place last week. Belle has graciously agreed to lend a hand. If that is alright with you…"

"Of course, Mrs Potts!" replied Marie immediately, clasping her hands together. "We have been struggling over the past-"

"Does she know how to clean out the fireplace?" asked Claudette, her brittle voice overpowering Marie's.

"Not yet but I was hoping you could show her," replied Mrs Potts, her lips pursed into a thin line.

"It's no problem at all," replied Marie, coming up towards Belle, who was staring at Claudette, who, in turn, was glaring at Belle with hostility in her beady eyes.

Marie ignored this and walked right between them.

"Come, I will show you how it's done," she said hastily before gently tapping Belle's elbow and guiding her towards the fireplace.

"Are you alright with this arrangement Claudette?" asked Mrs Potts, nervously folding her hands together.

"If I am honest Mrs Potts, no, I am not," replied the maid, turned her dark gaze back towards the Housekeeper. "But if you wish for a scullery maid to skulk about the drawing room, then who I am to argue with that?"

Mrs Potts frowned and planned to respond, but Claudette gave a quick curtsy before turning away and joining Belle and Marie.

Shaking her head and letting out a deep sigh, Mrs Potts made her way out of the drawing room. She wondered whether she had made a huge mistake in placing Belle with the maids. It seemed like things were not going to be easy for her, whatever position she might be in.

…..

His head was pounding, and his mouth was dry. Probably something to do with the fact he'd spent the night consuming liquor, trying his best to drink himself to sleep. He'd been doing it often lately.

He turned slowly to his side and groggily opened his eyes. Although the scarlet curtains were closed, they couldn't prevent the harsh sunshine outside from spilling in through the sides.

Blinking against the blinding light shining down onto his face, the Prince groaned out loud before glancing up towards the grandfather's clock, which stood on his right.

It was still only one hour till noon.

The Prince lifted his eyebrows in vague surprise. He usually didn't wake up this early, especially after a night of heavy drinking.

Staring at the ceiling above, he contemplated over whether to go back to sleep or to get up.

Breathing in deeply, he reached for the curtains on his right and opened them slightly to take a glimpse outside.

He could just about make out Augustin, who was riding on one of his horses, galloping across the grounds. The Marquis of Bourbon was sitting in the rose garden, puffing on a cigar.

The Prince turned away and let out another sigh.

He would have to get up. As much as he would have liked to remain stationary, given his pulsing headache, he knew he couldn't leave his guests on their own.

He didn't want to come across as a lousy host.

Getting up slowly, he paused for a moment as saw black spots before making his way towards the door.

Opening it, he looked up to see Lumiere standing diligently outside, refreshingly clean in appearance and looking out of a stain glass window, waving at someone.

"Good morning Lumiere," said the Prince, his voice deep and gravelly.

"Your Highness," replied Lumiere in bewilderment, immediately straightening up and bowing gracefully before his master. "I did not expect to you to rise this early. If I had known, I would have knocked."

"Yes, well, I am up," said the Prince irritably, wishing the conversation would speed along as fast as possible. He glanced towards the window before shifting his eyes back to his servant. "I don't want to keep my guests waiting."

"No, of course not," replied Lumiere smoothly, making his way towards the Prince. "What would you like to wear today?"

"Something simple, this is only a private party after all, and I don't want to be bogged down by layers of fabric. But before that, I want you to fetch me the drink I always ask for when I, er, how shall we say-"

"Not a problem, Your Highness," replied Lumiere with a knowing smile on his face, turning back to walk down the hallway. "I will get it for you right away."

"Good," replied the Prince, nodding his head and returning to the safety of the West Wing.

Lumiere returned promptly and, after giving him his much-needed drink, helped the Prince prepare for the day ahead.

Once suitably dressed, the young master made his way down the floors towards the portrait gallery and out through the grand staircase, where he intended to step outside and meet his guests.

Halfway down, however, he ran into several maids, who were going about their various morning chores.

Nothing out of the ordinary, except that since the master was not used to being up so early, he felt slightly out of his depth, surrounded by staff who were repeatedly bowing towards him, some of the young women giving him sly winks and glances, giggling as soon as he turned a corner, as if he couldn't hear them gossiping behind his back. He was under the microscope, something he usually felt more than comfortable with. In fact, it was something he actively sort out. Today, however, something felt off. He didn't feel as confident nor as steady as he usually did.

As he made his way down the oak staircase which led to the portrait gallery below, he was reminded of the night he'd caught the girl in the ballroom. He couldn't quite believe how he had managed to lose his control and fly off the handle. It was inexcusable.

He'd decided, however, that the reasons behind his erratic behaviour stemmed from the fact that she had interfered with late Duke's portrait.

Why had she decided to go near it in the first place?

No, he'd decided to forget the entire thing and concentrate on finding her. Despite letting her go that night, he knew she couldn't get away with it, roaming free without punishment.

He would dismiss her, but not before paying her some harsh words to remind her of her place in the world.

He didn't want to linger on the pure fear he had seen in her eyes that night.

The Prince stopped walking for a moment and turned to look outside. The sun was shining and the roses in the garden were blooming, so much so that they seemed to glow like virgin snow.

The fear….

He had deserved that perhaps, but he had never meant to hurt her in any way, only dally with her as he had with countless maids before. He couldn't quite understand why she had rejected him in the first place. She probably held some grudge against the upper classes, like those who seemed to hate the monarchy for no valid reason.

He'd spend three days trying to find her but to no avail. The Prince concluded the girl, Belle, most likely worked in the kitchens, as he had suspected that fateful night, due to her dirty appearance and clothes. It explained why he had never seen her anywhere about the castle, nor anywhere around the grounds.

He had been waiting for Cogsworth and Lumiere to mention her, but he realized quickly they would never inform him of the employment of a new scullery maid since it had nothing to do with him.

For some reason, he felt an incredible urge not to tell anybody about what had happened. He was sure it had to do with the fact he didn't want false rumours to spread about him and the girl, as enough rumours were floating around anyway about his various dalliances. If he was to become the future Duke, he had to stay away from any further scandalous situations. Not that he had ever felt an obligation to do so, but he knew that he at least had to be more careful from now on.

"Good morning sir," said one particularly short, dark-haired maid, who stopped dusting the bannister for a moment to turn and curtsy respectfully towards him.

The prince was about to turn and tell her that she should refer to him as 'Your Highness' when he heard a loud shriek and something clatter on to the floor.

"What was that?" gasped the maid, turning to look at the Prince worriedly.

"Stay here," he muttered, ignoring her question.

Making his way swiftly down the stairs, the Prince turned towards the portrait gallery, trying to work out where the sound had come from.

As he stopped to listen, he heard the distant sounds of women's voices; voices which sounded accusatory and argumentative.

Noticing that one of the doors was slightly ajar, the Prince guessed that the voices most likely originated from there.

"How clumsy can you be?" echoed a shrill voice across the hall. "Do you realize how long it will take to clean all of this up?"

"I'm sorry," replied a melodic voice quietly, which had a profound effect on the Prince, as he was forced to stop walking. The voice seemed to seep gently into his ears, as he put two and two together.

It was her.

"This has just added up to the already mountainous amount of work I have to get through today. I swear this day can't get any worse. I knew Mrs Potts was wrong in sending you up here."

"I'm sorry-"

"Apologizing isn't going to fix this!"

The Prince made his way across the hallway and leaned in closer towards the door, careful not to make any sudden sounds. It was barely open, but it was enough for him to be able to see through. He could just about make out two maids facing each other; one tall and positively red in the face, fuming as she stared down at the other, who was-

The Prince had to stop himself from muttering the girl's name.

"If you would let me clean this up, then you and Marie could continue on to the next fireplace."

"No, no. You've made enough of a mess already. The soot you spilled onto this priceless floor will just seep in further if you touch it with your clumsy hands."

The Prince unconsciously began to grip the side of the panelled wall, his hands slowly scraping off the cream-coloured paint as he continued to watch.

"I am terribly sorry Claudette, is there anything I can-"

"Just stand there, don't do anything. I'm sure that's what you're used to doing anyway, in that pathetic village of yours. Your father should have taught you how to clean properly, instead of wasting time showing you how to read."

The Prince began to glare at the sneering, satisfied expression on Claudette's face and felt a strangely hot and searing sensation spread across his chest.

It took him a moment to realize it was rage.

"Claudette! That was unforgivably rude!"

"I'm not wrong though, am I? This girl knows nothing about hard work. I heard from the other girls that when she lived in the village, she created some weird mechanism with a cart and donkey, and forced the poor animal to wash her clothes because she wanted time to daydream."

The Prince narrowed his eyes and peered at Belle, who stood very much like the night he had spoken to her, with her head faced down on the floor and her hands folded elegantly in front of her apron. He would store that information in his head for further inspection later.

The girl was clearly not ordinary, if this description of the way she went about washing her clothes was anything to go by.

"Read."

"Excuse me?"

Adam blinked as he absorbed Belle's words. Her voice was clear, steady, and yes, sounding ever so slightly stubborn.

The Prince leaned in closer so that he could see her face fully.

She wasn't looking down anymore. She was facing the other maid, her dark eyes trained on her, unflinching and confident.

The girl had a lot of spirit, that much he could say about her, and clearly, she talked back not only to him but also to everybody else as well, in this case, somebody clearly above her in terms of rank, even if the said person was very much a bitch.

"I wanted time to read."

The Prince felt his anger dissipate, replaced by something that felt oddly like pride. The master shook his head, not believing what was going on before him. He had meant to interfere, first and foremost because Belle had ruined his carpet, and that would present an ideal opportunity to confront and deal with her there and then.

But then he wanted to go in and end the incessant talking by getting rid of the other maid, Claudette, because he disliked the foul way she spoke.

Now it seemed, however, that this spirited young lady was taking care of the situation all by herself.

"So, you like to read," the Prince muttered to himself, unable to withhold himself from adding a little commentary. For some reason, he suddenly felt rather smug in learning something about her.

"It's the same thing," replied Claudette, her voice straining.

"No, it isn't," replied Belle simply. "You gain knowledge from reading."

The Prince couldn't help but smile slightly. He could hear the slight tinge of sarcasm in Belle's voice. It was the first time he had heard her sounding amused.

"Regardless, that has got nothing to do with the problem at hand, which is that you are too clumsy to carry out the job at hand. You are unsuitable to be a maid, and if that is the case, then you have no place here. It is a shame; I suppose you cannot be wholly blamed, for I heard that your mother died when you were just a babe. I wonder whether that is why-"

"Claudette, enough!" hollered a new and entirely different voice.

The Prince lifted his eyebrows. He nearly went into room himself, but he was too caught up in hearing about Belle's mother. Besides, he realized it would be highly irregular for him to suddenly barge in and start interrogating them, partly because it would reveal he had been eavesdropping, and second, because he had never spoken to the maids about their work before, as such things were the responsibility of Cogsworth and Lumiere.

"This bickering is pointless. I will clean this up with Belle, and you can move on to the fireplace," said Marie, her voice clear and collected.

"Fine, but I will be reporting this to Mrs Potts. This is not the end of this. There is no way she will continue to work here, I shall make sure of that."

"What are you staring at?"

The Prince flinched at the sound of a voice whispering beside him and turned rapidly to see his friend, Augustin, who was leaning against the wall with his arms folded, still dressed in his riding gear.

He was also, rather regrettably, looking rather smug and had an annoying smirk on his face. His chocolate brown hair was swept stylishly to the side, and he looked rather wind-swept.

"Nothing," replied the Prince after a beat before turning away to start walking briskly down the gallery, as if he hadn't been preoccupied with whatever he saw through the doorway.

"Nothing," repeated Augustin as he caught up with the Prince and began to walk in sync with his friend.

The Prince nodded his head bluntly before clearing his throat.

"You know, you might fool everyone else, but you can't deceive me," continued Augustin, eyeing his friend knowingly. "Hence the reason why you always lose when playing poker with me. Who was it you were staring at?"

The Prince glared at his closest friend as he proceeded to clench his jaw.

"No one of significance," he said through gritted teeth.

"What's her name?" asked Augustin lightly, as he continued to strut down the hallway, seemingly oblivious to the Prince's obvious discomfort over the subject matter they were discussing.

The Prince remained silent, his eyes resolutely fixed down the hall.

"For goodness sake, Adam," sighed Augustin as he slowed down his gait. "You can at least tell me her name."

The Prince turned around and cast his eyes down towards the floor before mumbling something.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" asked Augustin, a confused and yet amused expression on his face.

"Belle, her name is Belle," snapped the Prince before turning his back on Augustin and beginning to walk once more.

"Who is Belle?" said Augustin, unable to keep the interest out of his voice as he followed the Prince. He had rarely seen his friend this flustered over a girl before.

No, scratch that. He had never seen his friend this flustered over a girl.

"She's none of your concern."

"Well, you certainly seem concerned," retorted Augustin quickly as he looked at his friend, who was starting to look a lot less cool than he had done before. The Prince gave him a withering look before replying.

"She is currently of interest, but not for the reasons you think. She did something unforgivable."

"Oh," replied Augustin, his tone of voice changing.

"I caught her trespassing. She was sneaking about the ballroom in the middle of the night, one day after the ball."

"What? What do you mean trespassing?" replied Augustin incredulously, but the Prince's expression did not change as they made their way past the ballroom doors and out of the portrait gallery.

"She's a maid," said the Prince plainly, as he stopped walking to observe his friend's face turn into that of shock.

"Oh," replied Augustine, his voice hollow.

"So, you see, I am trying to decide what to do with her," sighed the Prince as they began to walk again and approached the marble fireplace, which was situated opposite the portrait gallery, near the grand staircase and main entrance to the castle.

"You, you didn't do anything that night? You just let her go?" asked Augustin cautiously, eyeing his friend with concern as he sat down on one of the divans.

"I-" started Adam, looking up at his friend, his eyes glazed over.

Augustin frowned.

"Yes," replied the Prince before looking away. "But I mean to punish her in some way. She cannot be allowed to break the rules and get away with it. It would set a bad example to the other maids."

"I don't understand," said Augustin, as he sat down opposite his friend. "Why have you waited this long to do something about it?"

"I've been trying to find her," grumbled the Prince, seeping further into his seat. "It hasn't been easy. These maids seem to be indistinguishable from the very walls of my castle."

"Well, why don't you just ask Cogsworth to deal with her? He can have her out of the castle in an instant."

"I-" stammered the Prince, avoiding Augustin's fixed stare. "I want to deal with her myself."

Augustin shook his head in response and reached for one of the logs beside the wall to throw into the fireplace.

"Why don't you ask one of your staff to call her up?" asked Augustin quizzically, as he got up to tend to the fire. "What's with all the secrecy?"

"I can't tell you," snapped the Prince, looking up to glare angrily at his friend. "The issue is between her and me."

"Alright," shrugged Augustin, lifting his hands in surrender. "I'm just curious. You just seem to be going about the matter in a very strange way, not telling anyone about it. I would have expected you to have gotten rid of her by now."

"I'm deciding what to do with her; there's nothing more to it. Please keep your irksome curiosities to yourself," scowled the Prince as he closed his eyes and began to massage his temple with his right hand.

Augustin grinned as he watched his friend, slowly poking the fire embers as he did so. No doubt his friend had been drinking heavily the night before and was beginning to regret it.

"Stop doing that," groaned the Prince, his eyes still closed. "The maids can deal with it."

"I don't mind," replied Augustin nonchalantly, continuing to poke the fire.

"Yes, well I mind," snapped the Prince, looking up once more, bleary-eyed. "I don't want you degrading yourself in such a manner."

Augustin scoffed in response and sat down once more. Unlike the others, he was not intimidated by his friend in the least and mostly ignored his orders and remarks.

"How is poking a fire degrading? I grew up working with my hands you know."

"Yes, but you're better than that. You shouldn't have to work," replied the Prince, pouring himself some wine from the jug sitting on the circular table beside him.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Augustin in a low voice as he eyed the wine his friend was pouring with uneasiness.

"I mean you shouldn't have to sink so low, like your father."

Augustin blinked and stared at his friend as if he were a stranger.

"Adam, what has become of you?"

"What?" sighed Adam, not catching the edge to Augustin's voice as he took a large gulp of his wine.

"Look at yourself," said Augustin hoarsely. "You're drinking and partying all the time. You don't carry out any of your royal duties."

"You sound like my father," drawled the Prince, ignoring the seriousness in his friend's voice.

"At least he cared about you-"

"Cared?!" roared the Prince, standing up to tower over his friend in sudden rage. His eyes were like slits, almost inhuman.

"Don't you dare say that my father cared Augustin, because you know very well that he didn't give a damn about me," he continued, his voice low but frightening in how eerily calm it sounded, hiding the barely contained anger.

"You missed his funeral," replied Augustin plainly, unafraid to speak out. He was one of the very few people in the world who could do this and get away unscathed. Well, for the most part. "He would have wanted you to be there."

"How dare you speak to me in such a manner!" snarled Adam, leaning forward so that he had Augustin trapped in a cage, his large hands gripped hold of his leather chair on either side.

"I was the one who accepted you when my father was against allowing you into our circle! I was the one who made sure people didn't trample all over you and smear your reputation!"

Augustin's face remained passive and he was about to speak but the Prince intervened once more, loosening his grip on the chair and moving abruptly away.

"No, no, you're just jealous, aren't you? Because you rely on _me_ to be accepted in our society! Because you don't have one ounce of royal blood in your veins!"

"That's enough Adam," said Augustin carefully, as he watched his friend slowly unravel and lose his cool, pacing about the fireplace as he ran his fingers frantically through his golden hair.

"I had my reasons for missing my father's funeral, you know that! You're just twisting the knife because you know your family had to work to get where they are, unlike my family, who were all born privileged!"

"Do you hear yourself Adam?" retorted Augustin, unable to stop himself from defending his family. The young Prince had finally stepped on a nerve. "Do you realize how ridiculous you sound? You're right, I wasn't born into good fortune like you, but my father worked day in and day out to make sure our family prospered. I don't see anything degrading about that. What I do find degrading, however, is the way you have been squandering your life by forever blaming your father for your immature woes."

"I could turn you out of this castle right now if I so pleased!" snapped the Prince hoarsely, as Augustin slowly got up. "I could disgrace your family in seconds if I wished it so."

"I don't care, Adam," sighed Augustin, shrugging nonchalantly. "Do what you like. I'm starting to think you're lost. I know I can't fix it and I don't want to stay around until you lose yourself completely and I can't recognize anymore."

The Prince stared at his friend, who was looking melancholically back at him, disappointment in his eyes.

Shifting his gaze back down to the ground, the Prince felt his anger melt away, and he was about to respond when someone began to cough politely behind him.

"Cogsworth," stated the Prince flatly, turned around to see the elderly man standing gingerly behind the divan.

"Master, I am sorry to intrude," replied Cogsworth, coming into view and bowing politely towards Augustin and then the master himself.

"What is it," muttered the Prince, wondering why the old man seemed to have the unerring talent of always appearing at the most inopportune of times.

"I wanted a quick word," replied the Head of Household as he eyed Augustin warily.

The Prince waited for Cogsworth to elaborate, but he merely continued staring at his friend unapologetically.

Augustin, perceiving the problem, turned to look at Adam once more and let out a languid sigh.

"You ought to be careful Adam," he murmured, giving his friend a warning look. "Appreciate those few people in the world who truly care about you. Otherwise, you will end up losing everything and everyone."

The Prince stared icily at Augustin, his blue eyes flickering dangerously in the low light. His mouth remained firmly shut, unable to form an answer and but not wishing to acknowledge what his co-called closest friend had just said.

Augustin let his shoulders sag in response before turning towards Cogsworth, whose mouth was shaped into that of an 'oh' but with no sound coming out.

"Thank you for your hospitality monsieur," said Augustin, bowing towards Cogsworth. "I will be leaving shortly, so if you could arrange to have my carriage brought around to the front…"

"Of course, monsieur, right away," stammered Cogsworth, bowing quickly before dashing off.

Augustin looked back at his dear friend once more, who was staring towards the fire, a frown on his face, his mouth formed into that of a scowl.

"I won't cause you anymore grief Adam. I think it best if I leave and-"

"Suit yourself," said the Prince coldly, not turning to look at Augustin.

Mansart paused, and thought to say something but then thought better of it.

"Goodbye then, old friend."

After a moment, the Prince turned cautiously towards where Augustin had been standing, but that time, he was gone.

As silence filled the hall the Prince felt the cold, hard floor beneath him and something hollow begin to spread in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

The only thing he did know was that it felt like the very devil.

"Your Highness!"

The Prince looked up to see Cogsworth trotting back towards him across the marble floor, red in the face from having exerted himself.

"What is it?" snapped the Prince, settling back down on to the divan. He stared at the half empty glass of wine and thought to pick it up, but decided he didn't feel like it anymore.

"I must apologize to you master about the beggar woman on the night of the ball," began Cogsworth nervously, rubbing his hands together. "I don't understand why she was there. I suspect you must have been upset about it, and the night was probably ruined because of it. I am sorry that I did not apologize to you sooner, but you have been rather secluded since the ball and-"

"I'm not upset about that," muttered the Prince, staring into the fire, his eyelids feeling rather heavy.

Cogsworth's eyes widened as he stared at the young master, who seemed relatively calm.

"You- you aren't upset about the incident?" stammered Cogsworth, hunching over as he repeated the Prince's words.

"No, but what I am concerned about is that you have recently employed a young woman, who, if I remember correctly, goes by the name of Belle."

Since no immediate response came his Head of Household, the Prince lazily turned his head to see Cogsworth gaping like a cod fish, waving his hands about in a nondescript manner.

"Master, I-"

"I caught her snooping about the ballroom in the middle of the night, one day after the ball," explained the Prince slowly, a sly smirk immerging on his glowing face, giving him a rather sinister image.

"What?" spluttered Cogsworth, unable to form a coherent answer.

"I don't know why she was there," continued the Prince, ignoring Cogsworth, "but in any case, she clearly should not have been there."

"That she should not have been!" exclaimed Cogsworth, sweat slowly appearing on his forehead. "Please accept my deepest apologies master, she will be dismissed immediately and-"

"Which village did she come from?"

Cogsworth stopped rambling and stared at the master, who was passively staring into the fire, unmoving. He had spoken so softly that Cogsworth almost thought he had misheard the young master.

"Sir?"

"Which village did she come from?" repeated the Prince slowly, turning to look at Cogsworth, his face now void of any expression, although his blue eyes remained intense, staring at his servant intently.

"She came from Villeneuve sir. Her family was in debt, and that is why she was sent here."

"Strange girl, is she not?" remarked the Prince, leaning his index finger against his temple as he continued to stare at Cogsworth, enjoying the way he squirmed, trying to form in his mind the proper response. "I do not think she is suited to working as a maid."

"No, not if she is walking about the castle at night, something which is clearly prohibited!" replied Cogsworth, standing up straighter and lifting his head high, as if to prove his point.

"It wasn't that particular incident I was thinking of," drawled the young master, turning to pick up his glass of wine, which was waiting patiently on the table beside him.

Cogsworth frowned in response, but the Prince ignored this and continued.

"I've heard the maids say that she can read. Is it true?"

"Master, who on earth-"

"Just answer the bloody question," growled the Prince, giving Cogsworth a piercing look before turning to take a swing of his wine.

"Yes, she can read," replied Cogsworth quickly, not wishing to anger the master any further. "Quite well, too. It seems she had a rather unorthodox upbringing."

"I'd say that were an understatement," muttered the Prince, narrowing his eyes as starting to turn the glass methodically in his hand.

After a tense moment of silence, he spoke once more.

"I want her in a higher position."

"A higher position?" repeated Cogsworth weakly after a moment, hardly believing his ears.

It had to be the wine. It had to be. Yes, the master had simply had too much to drink the night before.

"I know what you're doing Cogsworth," said the Prince smoothly, a calculating look in his eye as he glanced at his servant. "You've been hiding her from me."

"No, master, I-"

"It is no matter," he sighed, interrupting Cogsworth and turning back towards the fire. "She has peaked my interest, and I intend to see it through till she no longer holds any interest for me. She may be mere vermin, but she is easily the most interesting thing look at in this castle."

"But sir, what position could I possibly put a scullery-"

"She can read, yes?" replied the Prince, getting up and straightening his navy jacket. "We don't currently have a librarian, is that not correct?"

"Yes, sir," breathed Cogsworth, "not since we had no need of one as you never frequent the library anymore."

"Hmm," grunted the Prince as he made his way across the marble floor. Cogsworth followed him discreetly from behind. "Well, put her there for now."

"It is because you think she will enjoy spending time reading sir?"

"What?" snarled the Prince, turning swiftly around, his eyes filled with outrage.

"Forgive me, Your Highness," mumbled Cogsworth, bowing deeply before the master. "I merely thought that-"

"Well you thought wrong," said the Prince in a low voice. "The reason she will be there is so that it will be easier for me to find her and be able to speak to her in peace. That is all."

"Of course master," replied Cogsworth, letting out a jiggered breath as he bowed once more.

The Prince turned away and began to leave when the Head of Household spoke once more.

"Sir, there is a specific reason why I came to speak with you…"

"What is it?" yelled the young Prince indignantly for the second time that day.

"It's about your father sir," said Cogsworth, regretting that he had to tell the master such bad news when he was already in such a foul mood.

"Oh, for the love of-" began the Prince before stopping himself and letting a deep breath and turning to face Cogsworth. "Yes, what about the dead bastard?"

"It's your father's will sir," said Cogsworth feebly, staring down at his feet.

"What about it?"

Cogsworth looked up at the Prince, who had a haggard look on his face. He seemed so much older compared to a couple of years ago. World-weary. As if he had seen too much of the world too soon.

"It's disappeared sir," blurted out Cogsworth, and watched as the master frowned back at him, unaware of what was about to him and how his world was about to be turned upside down.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's note: Okay, first of all, I'M REALLY SORRY. I've had a really bad couple of weeks and just did not have any time to write. So, I apologize to you all, and hope to give you another chapter very soon. Thank you for being such patient angels, and thank you for all the support and comments, it really means a lot! Nothing major in this chapter, but by now you all know the drill with the slow-burner thing haha! I promise things are going to heat up a bit very soon :D Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this, don't forget to like, follow, review (that one's important haha), and favourite! Happy reading everyone!

Chapter 9

"What?" gasped Mrs Potts, as she sat into the velvet chair situated behind her, not taking any notice of Lumiere, who was staring at her from across the room. Twiddling his thumbs nervously, he waited for the last remaining member of their party to enter the room quickly and shut the door. The grandfather's clock, which stood in the office next to an abnormally large window sill, began to strike midday just as Cogsworth made his way in. The bell within the clock was tolling ominously as he shut the door, and as the old man shakily wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, he could not help but wonder how he was going to explain the morning's events to the two other occupants in the room.

"I cannot find his will," he began to explain as he crossed the threshold.

"I don't understand the problem," said Lumiere lightly, but he seemed a little less bright than his usual self. His elegant eyebrows furrowed together as his eyes remained fixed on Cogsworth. "Surely the Prince shouldn't have any problems, given he is bound to inherit everything."

"Yes, yes of course," replied Cogsworth irritably, sitting himself down behind his desk in haste. "That is not the problem. My main concern is that I have failed to keep the promise I made to the late Duke."

"And what promise was that?" asked Mrs Potts, narrowing her eyes.

Cogsworth looked up at her hesitantly before letting out a long weary sigh.

"I made a promise to pass on to the young master a letter," began Cogsworth, his voice flat and remorseful. "The late Duke called it his 'will', but since I never looked at the contents, and given the fact he was quite delirious by the time I last spoke to him, I could not tell you what the late Duke felt was so imperative that the Prince needed to know."

"A letter?" repeated Mrs Potts with interest, sitting up in her chair and leaning forward.

"Oh," responded Lumiere, slumping back against the bookcase, not giving much thought to the records which Cogsworth had clearly stacked neatly inside. "I thought you meant a will, not some random letter a deranged father had written to his son."

Cogsworth gave Lumiere a piercing look of disapproval, but he did not pretend to have not heard his comment.

"That is precisely what the Prince said as well," he replied begrudgingly, his voice low but sarcastic. "But the late Duke made it quite clear to me it was imperitive I pass it on to the young master. It was the last time I ever visited the Duke in Paris, and I was prepared then to carry out his last wish and I still remain so. I asked the Duke at the time whether he could to tell me what it was all about, but he remained silent and only vehemently ordered that I not open the letter and only discuss the matter with the Prince and the Prince only."

"Do you think it has something to do with the young master on a financial level?" asked Mrs Potts just as a little red robin, perched on the branch of a tree just by windowsill, began to sing.

"No, of course not," scoffed Lumiere, letting out a sigh of relief as he lent his arm against the edge of Cogsworth's bookcase in a gallant manner. "The master is the new Duke, and he will inherit this estate, and that is that."

"You don't think his father was trying to stop him from inheriting everything?"

"I don't know Mrs Potts," replied Cogsworth, shaking his head as his eyes met hers, which, in contrast to Lumiere's, seemed even more troubled than before, not less so. "The only thing which is clear is that the master must be more careful about his spending habits. His father, I'm afraid, has been leading this estate into debt, and as much as the master wishes for me to tax the local villages, it won't hold up for much longer."

"What do you mean?" asked Lumiere, changing his posture, looking towards the Head of Household with genuine concern. .

"I'm saying," began Cogsworth pointedly, sitting up in his chair, "that he must make allowances, if he wishes to keep this estate running in a stable manner. Not to mention the risk of- "

"Revolts?" interrupted Lumiere, folding his arms. He was starting to get annoyed with Cogsworth's uptight and distraught manner of looking at the Prince's situation.

"It is no small matter," said Cogsworth pointedly as Lumiere began to roll his eyes. "We must be careful. At the moment, the master is paying no heed to my concerns, but if he is not careful-"

"In the meantime," interjected Mrs Potts, wishing for the conversation to cool down, "I guess we must try and find this missing will. I presume you had it with you all this time Cogsworth?"

"Yes, of course," replied Cogworth in a defensive manner, turning his chin up slightly. "I had it safely stowed away in this office. But now it has mysteriously disappeared."

"Very well," said Mrs Potts slowly, turning to get up. "We shall try to find it. I doubt it has gone very far."

"Unless one of the maids has taken it," grumbled Cogsworth as he opened one of his drawers and started shuffling about, trying to search for it in vain.

Mrs Potts blinked.

"Oh, come on Cogsworth," replied Lumiere in a disapproving manner. "You must have more faith in your staff."

"Why should I?!" exploded Cogsworth, furiously closing the drawer with a flamboyant fling of his arm. "I can't even trust the maids to remain in their beds at night! Waltzing about the castle in the middle of the night and-"

"What?!" spluttered Mrs Potts, her eyes turning into saucers. "What do mean, waltzing about the castle in the middle of the night?"

Cogsworth opened his mouth but then proceeded to close it once more, realising too late he had let something slip. Not that he wasn't planning to inform Mrs Potts of the infernal matter, but he could have been a little more prepared and not let it spill out in the middle of a rampage.

"Oh no Cogsworth," sighed Lumiere dejectedly, shaking his head. He couldn't help however but smirk a little. "It could not possibly be the one we all call Beauty, no?"

"How did you guess?" retorted Cogsworth immediately, unable to resist responding as a perplexed expression crossed over his face. Mrs Potts let out an exasperating sigh, but she could not help but feel a sudden sense of dread come about her at the same time.

"Does the master know?" she asked in a sombre fashion, ignoring Lumiere, who had a look of triumph about him.

"Of course he knows!" replied Cogsworth hoarsely, his eyes flickering neurotically towards the mint green door, as if in fear that someone was going to come bursting in and then proceed to spread news of the incident all about the castle. "He was the one who found her!"

Lumiere's mischievous smirk was wiped clean off his face as Cogsworth's shocking outburst echoed off the walls of the office.

Mrs Potts couldn't help but lift a hand to her mouth.

What followed was a pregnant silence, during which the trio sat dumbfounded, not one of them able to utter a single word.

"What happened?" whispered Lumiere, fearing the answer but needing to know.

"I don't know," replied Cogsworth dejectedly, leaning back into his seat and looking down bleakly at his desk. "He didn't give any specifics, so it's hard to say. I had no idea at all, for the girl seemed perfectly normal and-"

"You mean, to you she seemed perfectly normal," replied Lumiere darkly. "I must confess I haven't seen much of her, but Mrs Potts, you have seen her frequently enough over the past couple of days."

"I'm afraid I must agree with Cogsworth," replied Mrs Potts softly, giving Lumiere a sad little smile. "But it's possible she is simply good at hiding her emotions. God knows we maids are experts when it comes to matters like that. What was she doing upstairs in the middle of the night?"

"I do not know," said Cogsworth, staring down once more at his desk. "He saw he in the ballroom apparently. He did not elaborate much further than that. The main point is, I'm afraid we have failed in trying to keep her out of his sight. He's perfectly aware of what we have been doing."

"Does he want her out of the castle?"

Cogsworth shook his head firmly, looking awkwardly towards Mrs Potts, who didn't seem at all surprised by the answer to her question.

"He wants her upstairs, doesn't he?"

Cogsworth didn't even bother to blink. The housekeeper already knew what the Prince wanted and the inevitability of what was to happen to the peculiar girl from Villeneuve, who was at present furiously polishing away at the silver kitchenware down in the cellars directly below them, unaware that she was the subject of their talk.

….

Belle peered at the engraving once more and furrowed her eyebrows. Everything, even the kitchenware, was engraved with the title of the Duke, as though the staff needed reminding that every single trinket in the castle belonged not to them but to the aristocrat, down to the very shoes they wore.

As Belle pondered over this fact, a figure cast a shadow over Belle's view, forcing her to cease her work and look up, away from the silverware, which was presently gleaming in the sunlight, now ready for use. Belle had been meticulously wiping all afternoon, and her hard work showed.

As she changed the direction of her gaze, she was satisfied to see she was correct in her judgement, for Mrs Potts was peering down at her. As Belle looked closer however, she noticed that Mrs Potts seemed not like her usual self. The warmth which Belle always recognized in her eyes was notably absent.

Instead, what she saw there was concern. Perhaps even vexation.

This sent alarm bells to Belle's brain, but as quickly as she had detected it, it seemed to disappear and Mrs Potts was once more smiling down at her with her usual demeanour of warm fuzziness.

"Belle, I hope everything worked out this morning," she began. "I heard you managed to get through all the fireplaces by lunchtime."

"Yes, Claudette and Marie were very helpful. I'm afraid however I spilt some soot on the carpet and I must apologise to you profusely-"

"Oh, do not let that trouble you my dear," interrupted Mrs Potts, gesturing for her to stand up. "I remember when I was a young girl in the exact same position as you are in right now, just a little snip of a thing. I had no idea what I was doing. I remember on one occasion where I spilt red wine on a guest during a house party and was nearly turned out of the house! Luckily the gentleman was kind and did not seem to mind in the least, but I was sure I would have my hands whipped with a cane by the housekeeper."

Mrs Potts proceeded to laugh but Belle found she could not join in with her as she did not find the story humorous.

"Is there something you'd like me to do?" Belle asked as she stood up, swiftly wiping the dust off her apron.

"Oh," stammered Mrs Potts, her smile instantly disappearing. "Well, my dear, I think it best if you follow me upstairs and-"

"Upstairs?" repeated Belle hesitantly as she stared at Mrs Potts, who was already making her way towards the golden staircase. Leaving Belle with no choice, she wordlessly followed the Head Housekeeper.

As Belle listened to their footsteps, she felt her heart start to race.

Had they found out?

"Yes, my dear," replied Mrs Potts, once Belle had caught up to her. As they passed the kitchen, Belle noticed the kitchen staff eyeing them in a rather strange manner. It reminded her of the villagers during Sunday market. They didn't even bother to shift their gaze whenever their eyes happened to meet hers.

"Come along my dear," said Mrs Potts, gesturing for Belle to follow her up the golden staircase.

"Oh, sorry, of course," responded Belle, immediately swerving around to follow the Housekeeper, but not before she caught the gaze of Claudette, who was standing in a corner, glaring at her in an incredibly scathing manner.

Evidently, they all knew now what she had done the night before.

Belle felt her heart sink as she used the railing to support herself as she climbed up the stairs.

It was over.

Not that she hadn't been expecting it. She couldn't deny however, that she'd hoped the time for possible expulsion had passed.

Clearly, she was wrong. The Prince had changed his mind.

Reaching the top, Belle stepped out into the portrait gallery. Assuming Mrs Potts was going to walk towards the office belonging to the Head of the Household, she stared down at the ground and made her way towards that direction.

"Belle? Where are you going?"

Lifting her head, she saw Mrs Potts, who was already halfway down the gallery, looking back towards her with confusion ridden in her kind eyes.

"I-" stammered Belle, lifting her hand to point hesitantly towards Cogsworth's office. "I thought you-"

"Come along quickly my dear, we haven't got all day!" replied Mrs Potts, seemingly not paying any attention to what Belle was saying.

Belle let her shoulders sag as she lifted a single eyebrow. This was not going at all the way she thought it would. Why was Mrs Potts leading her further into the castle, instead of out of it?

"Um, Mrs Potts?" began Belle gingerly once she had caught up with the Head Housekeeper.

The lady was incredibly fast on her feet.

"Yes, my dear," responded Mrs Potts, not sparing Belle a glance as they went past the portrait gallery and entered a much darker part of the castle, beginning to climb a large marble staircase, very much like the one in front of the grand entrance.

"Where exactly are we going?"

"That is for you to discover my dear," replied Mrs Potts, this time turning to give Belle a genuine smile. It was so disarmingly powerful that Belle couldn't stop herself from expressing exactly what was running through her mind.

"Mrs Potts, in all honesty, I thought you approached me down in the kitchens because a couple nights I-"

"Went into the ballroom?" replied Mrs Potts gently as they reached the top of the stairs.

"Yes," breathed Belle in astonishment as Mrs Potts turned to face her on the spot.

Even though it was still mid-afternoon, due to the lack of windows the landing was hidden in darkness, except for the light coming from the rococo styled candelabras which hung off the stone walls. Belle felt her mouth drop open as Mrs Potts stared back at her with pity in her eyes.

"How did you know? Did the Prince…." whispered Belle, her eyes glazing over as her voice trailed off.

Mrs Pott gave no immediate response, but stared nebulously at her for a moment before proceeding to smile in an understanding way and pat her gently on the shoulder.

"Follow me," she said simply, before swiftly turning away to open a set of doors on the left.

Belle, met with sunshine which seemed to instantly stream through with the opening of the doors, shielded her eyes as she followed Mrs Potts into another open hallway.

Regaining some of her vision, Belle blinked as she took in her new surroundings. The hallway was a little like the portrait gallery, but perhaps a little less wide and more intimate. Lined with crystal windows which caused the already powerful sunlight to glitter against the gold-trimmed doors which stood opposite, the hallway was nonetheless nothing less than stunningly beautiful.

"My goodness," gasped Belle as she followed Mrs Potts down the carpeted floor.

"Yes indeed," said Mrs Potts, but there was a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "You have no idea just how hot it can get up here in the summer."

"Where exactly are we?"

Mrs Potts grinned as they approached the end of the hallway. Coming to a stop in front of another set of doors, the housekeeper turned around once more.

"Now my dear, the reason I have brought you up here, is to say you have been relieved of your post."

Belle felt her heart stop.

But before she had any time to respond, Mrs Potts continued with a knowing little glint in her eye.

"And you have been assigned a new position."

Belle let out an involuntary gasp as she stared at Mrs Potts.

"What?" she stammered, not even bothering to try and hide her astonishment any longer.

"Yes, well," replied Mrs Potts, folding her hands and pursing her lips. "I can only relay to you what Cogsworth told me. He is aware of what happened that night-"

"Mrs Potts, please allow me to apologize for what happened, it was entirely my own fault. I should have told you sooner but-"

"It's okay my dear," interrupted Mrs Potts, her voice soothing as she rubbed Belle's shoulder reassuringly for the second time that day. "You have committed no crime, only that of having a keen sense of curiosity, something which I definitely do not condone. If anything, I admire you for having an adventurous side."

"But-" protested Belle, but Mrs Potts silenced her.

"Cogsworth has made peace with the incident and decided to give you the post of, well, why don't you open the door and you can see for yourself."

"He has forgiven me?" uttered Belle, her eyes widening as she processed the information Mrs Potts had just given her. The housekeeper, however, merely smiled in response and gestured towards the doors.

Belle felt herself turn and look down at the golden doorknob before reaching up to pull it down.

The door processed to open with a small creak, and what she was met with was a sight she would never forget.

Belle froze, her hand still gripped hold of the door handle.

Books.

Wherever she looked. Books.

Rows upon rows upon rows of books surrounded her, filling up countless bookcases, which seemed to take up every single inch of wall-space in the gigantic room. There were staircases leading up to a second floor full of books, and there were even places in which to read in solace, and ladders to reach up to even the highest novels perched right below the ceiling.

Belle had never seen anything like it in her life, and for a moment, she even forgot how to breath, for she was completely taken aback by the scene which lay before her. She didn't even know that so many books could coexist in one single place, let alone that one could own so many.

Making her way slowly into the room, she felt her heels echo off the marble floor. She couldn't describe this place as a room, it was more a….

It was a library.

Lifting her hands to her mouth, she tried to contain the sheer joy which was threatening to burst out of her in the form of laughter.

She couldn't believe she was even allowed to be here.

"But," she stuttered after a moment, turning around to confront Mrs Potts, who had been silently following her from behind. "I don't understand. Why-"

"We used to have a librarian, but he was dismissed long ago," began Mrs Potts, who was positively beaming. She had never seen the girl look so happy, and it filled her with such relief she couldn't help but feel a little proud that she had made Belle feel even just a little bit happier.

"The library has not been looked after very well since then," she continued, sliding a finger across the rim of one of the bookcases and, upon seeing the dust, rubbing it away dismissively.

"So, you want me to clean this library?" said Belle, hardly believing what she was saying.

"Indeed," replied Mrs Potts, nodding her head. "We also would like it if you could sort through the books. Cogsworth suspects they are not in order, and since you are so good with words, he thought you might-"

"Are you certain that you want me to do it?" blurted out Belle, unable to keep the giddiness out of her voice. "I'm just a maid and-"

"Just a maid," repeated Mrs Potts, shaking her head in disbelief. "My dear, you are so much more than that. The fact is, there are not many people who would like to spend their time going through thousands upon thousands of books, trying to put them into alphabetical order. We would have asked the maids, but most cannot read, and none of them as fervently as you. And let us not forget, most librarians refuse to work at libraries that aren't frequented by anyone and serve no purpose."

"Serve no purpose?" repeated Belle incredulously. "How could one have a place like this and never use it?"

Mrs Potts, who had been about to say, 'well that is a question for the master who actually owns it', stopped herself just before she opened her mouth.

Belle, who had once more turned to look around in awe, suddenly realized something which she would have noticed earlier, if not for the fact she had been distracted by the unbelievable wonders which currently surrounded her.

There was only one way Cogsworth could have heard about the incident in the ballroom.

The Prince had finally told him what had happened.

What was strange however, was the fact Cogsworth had now offered an entirely different position, with no form of punishment.

Something… Something felt wrong.

"Mrs Potts," she began, her voice this time much more subdued. "Monsieur Cogsworth did not come to speak to me about the incident in the ballroom, and yet he has decided to forgive me, even though I have not even given him an apology. Not only that, he has suddenly offered me an incredibly high position, one which a mere scullery maid such as myself could not hope to obtain, not, I suspect, even in several years. You must know it was the Prince himself who found me in the ballroom that night, and it was he who let me go. Please, tell me, what did Monsieur Cogsworth do to let me remain here? What exactly do I owe him?"

Mrs Potts stared at the girl, utterly gobsmacked and unable to form an immediate response.

She hadn't been expecting Belle to be so observant. Nor to feel so guilty, despite the happiness and joy she had felt mere seconds ago.

Feeling her shoulders sag, Mrs Potts began to understand why the master had taken such an interest in her. She wasn't just beautiful. No, she had a keen mind and had the rare ability to see past the surface of things and beyond, to places where most did not care to look. She cared about others, and had a real sense of imagination. It was easy to see why the young master found her intriguing, and, well, at that point, Mrs Potts began to wonder whether this girl might actually do him some good.…

But at the same time, she did not want to see the poor girl hurt.

"Well, my dear," began Mrs Potts awkwardly, trying to think desperately of what to say. "There are no specific conditions to speak of, this post is truly yours and you need not fear that you owe anyone anything. However, I will just caution you and explain a few things. You may use this library freely as it will be your domain, but all other parts of the castle will remain off-limits, aside from the cellar and kitchen of course. Also, I'm sure, now that you have met the Prince, well, you can hardly ignore the fact he is, er, let us say, difficult."

Belle could only stare at the ground in embarrassment. She had no idea what to think of the statement, much less how to respond to it. It was the first time she had heard someone speak negatively about the Prince, but when it came from someone as open-minded and understanding as Mrs Potts, it made it that much odder.

"As a member of the upstairs staff, you may encounter members of the aristocracy, including the Prince himself. Cogsworth is confident, however, that you will be able to manage just fine, given how eloquent and well-mannered you are. I would not fret too much about it though my dear. You most likely won't be seeing anyone as nobody ever comes into the library."

Mrs Potts followed this with a nervous little laugh, but that failed to disguise the forbidding atmosphere which had decided to settle into the room.

Belle knew the housekeeper wasn't telling her something, but given her anxious behaviour, she knew somehow the Prince was involved. She had expected to be thrown out, should they have ever found out, but given that she was standing in the middle of this beautiful library, clearly Cogsworth had managed to explain away a reason for her to stay.

She would have to repay him one day.

"Thank you, Mrs Potts. Truly," said Belle, giving her a deep curtsy. "I suspect I owe you and Monsieur Cogsworth a great deal. I intend to work to my fullest capacity in order to have this library organized as quickly as possible."

"Oh, there's no need to hurry my dear, you're not down in the kitchens anymore," replied Mrs Potts, giving a little chuckle. "Although I appreciate your enthusiasm. Now, as you are no longer a scullery maid, you will be allocated a new room up here in the East Wing-"

"Um, that will not be necessary!" interrupted Belle, shaking her head hastily. "I, er, I have grown quite attached to my current room, and I enjoy being close to the other maids."

Mrs Potts paused as if to argue, but then seemed to think better of it.

"Well," she replied. "If you are absolutely sure my dear. Your working hours shall be different from the others, so you might find it quite noisy in the mornings. Nevertheless, you won't be required to wear the maid's uniform, so I will lay out some alternatives for you this evening. In the meantime, you may remain here until supper."

"Thank you, Mrs Potts. I shall start right away," replied Belle, and was about to turn when she remembered something quite vital.

"Um, Mrs Potts, concerning my wages, I wouldn't ask, it's only my father-"

"Not to worry my dear, Monsieur Cogsworth is writing to your father as we speak," replied Mrs Potts. "We shall give you all the specifics tonight. I suspect Cogsworth will want to speak to you then. Of course, you may write to your father whenever you may chose."

Belle nodded silently in response, wondering how on earth she was going to repay Cogsworth for what he had done for her.

Mrs Potts gave Belle a reassuring smile before turning away to leave, but just as she made it to the cream-coloured doors, she glanced back at Belle once more, who was standing tall in the middle of the grand room, a world full of knowledge mostly written by men.

"My dear," stammered Mrs Potts hesitantly. "That night, in the ballroom, when the master found you, what exactly did he say? What did he do?"

Mrs Potts noticed the poor girl's countenance shift from that of certainty to one of vulnerability and immediately felt awful for asking the question.

It was, however, the one question which both she and the rest of the Head of Staff wanted the answer to most. Only Mrs Potts could have asked it and initiated an answer, hence the reason why it was she who had been chosen to guide the young woman to the ballroom and not Lumiere or Cogsworth.

"Well," began Belle, as she shifted her eyes to the marble floor. "Naturally he scolded me for being there and asked what I was doing there in the first place. I explained I came out of curiosity, because I had heard about the ball. He also asked who I was, and I dutifully replied and gave him my name."

Mrs Potts waited for Belle to continue, but she remained silent.

"And then?"

"And then he…" began Belle, seemingly trying to form the correct words.

"And then he yelled at me to quit the ballroom immediately," she finished before letting out a deep sigh. It was close enough to the truth.

"And that was all?" questioned Mrs Potts, her voice slightly concerned.

"That was all," replied Belle after a second as she began to twist her hands behind her back, realizing she had probably just lied for the first time in her life.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's note: Sorry for all these late updates, these chapters take a while to write up, but you guys are amazing with all of your continued support. It's incredible that this story has regular readers and still holds interest. Gosh, this was hard to write, trying to figure out how to follow up the ballroom scene… Don't worry, this story is still going strong, but as always, keep your hopes low as it's a slow burn! I hope you all enjoy this chapter and don't forget to like, follow and review as always :D Happy reading everyone! (P.S. just been edited a bit since some of it was a bit jumbly)

Chapter 10

Belle looked down at the book in her hands with unease. 'Shakespeare's Sonnets', a collection of poems which she'd found lying in the 'S' section of the library. She had been up and about organizing the room all through the afternoon.

At first, she had taken it out of pure interest, but after taking a break later and venturing up one of the spiral staircases that led to the second floor above, she discovered an entirely different section, the wooden panels above showing her that this extraordinary library even had its own 'poetry' section.

Thus, she now found herself in a bit of a dilemma.

Since there were works of Shakespeare in the poetry section, Belle came to the conclusion that either his work had been all jumbled up together for purely practical reasons, or the previous librarian had made a mistake.

Settling herself down into the chair by the fireplace on the far corner of the library, Belle let herself sigh in an unrestrained fashion as she popped the book of poetry on the side table.

This position was turning out to be a much more tiring ordeal than she had first anticipated.

She had forgotten to ask Mrs Potts earlier how one was supposed to organize a library, and so she had been left to her own devices to try and sort it out. So far, she had barely made it through the 'S' section of novels, which were located near the back end of the library.

After a little exploration, Belle soon discovered that the ground floor consisted mostly of novels, memoirs and, rather surprisingly, political analysis. The balconies held books of varying topics, such as travel literature, serious histories and, as mentioned, poetry.

All the books had their own categories, and clearly the previous librarian had been a rather lazy fellow because Belle had found several works, such as 'One Thousand and One Nights', randomly stuck next to works by Chaucer.

The problem Belle found, was that since a book like 'One Thousand and One Nights' had no single author, it was difficult to know where on earth to place it. True, it had been translated by a man named Antoine Galland, but he was not the original author, and 'G' was nowhere near 'C' in any case.

Belle let her head lean back as she stared at the copy of 'Romeo and Juliet' lying on her armchair, a beautifully bound copy of the work, a stark contrast to the unassuming, roughened up version she had frequently walked around with in the Villeneuve.

It might have seemed a little illogical to pick out a book she had already read a million times before, as opposed to the countless stories that lay before her, just waiting to be picked up and read.

But perhaps Belle had felt a little overwhelmed in this exciting and yet foreign place, and therefore wanted something more familiar, something that reminded her of home.

Picking up the play, Belle began to flick through its pages, but she could not seem to focus on the words. Usually she did not face this problem, as she found reading as easy as breathing, but clearly something was troubling her.

"No legacy is so rich as honesty," she muttered to herself, aware that the quote was not from 'Romeo and Juliet'. Shutting the book, she pursed her lips into a thin line.

Why had she not told Mrs Potts the truth?

Was it out of shame, or guilt?

True, she hadn't wanted to embarrass Mrs Potts, even though she was probably more than aware of what the Prince was like. Even so, Belle had not confessed to her about sneaking up to the balcony and watching the ball take place with Plumette. This was of course the primary reason why she had returned to the ballroom the night after. Without giving away that certain piece of information it was impossible to explain to her why she had ventured up there in the first place.

As Belle ruminated over this, she began to feel increasingly claustrophobic. She had told white lies before, like any other person, but this was the first time she felt like she'd told a significant lie, and to somebody who she was beginning to care a great deal for. She had done something she shouldn't have, because of her stubborn curiosity, and instead of being punished for it, she had been awarded with perhaps the best position she could have ever hoped for…

Actually, she doubted she could have ever dreamt of it, let alone hoped for it. Perhaps that was why she felt a certain amount of guilt coursing through her body, ever since Mrs Potts had left the room earlier that day.

Belle sat up in her chair and stared at the discarded copy of 'Romeo and Juliet' in her lap. She needed to focus and be strict with herself. No more wondering and dreaming. She had to concentrate on fulfilling her station from now on and reminded herself why she was here.

She had to set both her and papa free, and only then could she return to him and the simple life she had once scorned. Her father had given her so much, more than she had been aware of before. He'd given her freedom and security, both things she was beginning to discover were rare in this world.

Now it was her turn to give him something back in return.

Standing up spritely, Belle walked towards the 'S' section, 'Romeo and Juliet' in hand. As much as she craved to read, she had a job to do. She couldn't afford to remain distracted anymore.

Climbing up the wooden latter which leant against the bookcase, Belle kept her gaze on the rows of books in front of her, doing her best to avoid looking down towards the floor.

It wasn't that she had a fear of heights necessarily, but she didn't want to inadvertently shake the ladder.

As Belle leaned up to put 'Romeo and Juliet' back where she had taken it from, she heard a sudden squeak echo across the room. Turning her head in alarm towards the doorway on the otherwise of library, Belle squinted her eyes as she tried to make out whether anybody come in, but the room was, as far as she could tell, utterly deserted except for herself.

Shaking her head in response, she turned back towards the bookcase just as she felt the ladder begin to tip backwards. Hastily grabbing on to the frame of the bookcase, Belle scrambled to stop herself and the ladder from falling. Just as she was regaining her balance however, she felt a strong pair of hands take hold of the ladder and push it firmly back towards its original position, immediately putting an end to her struggle.

Swerving her gaze down towards the source of the movement, Belle felt her heart begin to sink.

It would have kept sinking, if not for the fact that she found herself locking eyes with the very last thing she had expected to see there.

"Hi," said a young boy with scruffy brown hair, beaming up at Belle with a toothy grin on his face.

"Hi,' breathed Belle, not knowing what else to say. He'd appeared seemingly out of thin air.

"That was a close one," he remarked, which began to set Belle at ease. "Are you the new librarian?"

"Yes, I am," replied Belle brightly as she quickly put away the, by now, long forgotten book and made her way down the ladder.

"I thought so," said the child, an unmistakably mischievous grin plastered on his face as Belle reached the bottom. "Mama told me all about you."

"All good things I hope?" replied Belle anxiously, wondering who the boy's mother was. He was dressed simply, so it was hard for Belle to tell whether he was staying in the castle or belonged to one of the staff.

"Of course," said Chip with excitement. "She's always talking about you! I think she finds you interesting."

Belle didn't know whether this was necessarily a good or bad thing, but she found herself smiling nonetheless, charmed by the boy's unfazed sense of honesty, a quality which many children seemed to have.

Perhaps sensing her unease, the boy spoke once more.

"You sounded nice," he said hesitantly as Belle moved the ladder back towards the end of the bookcase. "And I wanted to meet you since everyone seems to be talking about you all the time."

"I see," replied Belle slowly, guessing that he was referring to the staff. Turning to face the young boy, who was now looking towards her anxiously, she continued her response. "Well, I'm Belle. And you are?"

"Chip," said the boy as he accepted Belle's hand and they shook hands in a formal manner. He enjoyed the fact she was looking him in the eye and talking naturally, not the way that some adults did when speaking to him, dumbing down their voices and talking very slowly, as if he suffered from hearing problems.

"It's nice to meet you, Chip," replied Belle warmly, smiling in return to the boy's gleeful gaze. "Who is your mama?"

"Mrs Potts of course!" burst out Chip humorously, giggling at Belle's ignorance, but it was not condescending. "She says you like reading and that I should do more of it."

"Is that why you're here?" asked Belle, making her way towards the fireplace. "Your mother sent you to pick something from the library?"

"Erm," stammered Chip, looking suddenly a little sheepish as he pushed his shoes together and hid his hands behind his back.

Belle smiled in response to Chip's awkward stance.

"I see," she replied simply before turning to pick up Shakespeare's Sonnets off the table.

"Please don't tell her I came here on my own, she'll kill me!" exclaimed Chip, coming up to Belle, desperation in his eyes.

"Don't worry," said Belle reassuringly as she turned to face the dear boy. "I won't tell, but-"

The clock sitting on the marble mantelpiece chimed six o'clock, signalling supper time for the staff.

"My goodness," said Belle in response. "Is it that time already?"

"Chip looked up at Belle with a slightly worried look on his face.

"Your mother is probably looking for you around about now," said Belle, registering Chip's concern. "Let's go down together and we'll make some excuse. I'm afraid we'll have to leave picking a story for later."

Chip blinked at Belle, struggling to register what the strange young lady had just said. She was going to help him get away with sneaking around the castle?

"You really are as funny as they say you are," said chip, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Am I really that hilarious?" questioned Belle as she started to walk back towards the entrance of the library, deliberately attempting to look perplexed as she did. Chip snickered in response as he followed her.

"Thank you, Belle," said Chip, once his giggles had subsided. "Most people would just tell me off."

"Well, I will let you off the hook this time, but it is unfair on your mother. Next time, tell her you are coming and then at least she will feel a little safer in knowing where you are."

They had reached the doors by this point and Belle was about to place her hand on the handle.

"But Belle," began Chip, sounding strangely alarmed, "don't you know I'm not supposed to-"

The doors burst open, causing Belle to flinch and step several paces backwards, just as Chip hurried towards her side and grabbed hold of her apron.

At first the bright light from the windows behind in the hallway obscured her view, but once the doors closed, Belle found herself once again in the presence of the master of the castle, the Price.

His cool gaze was fixed upon her, completely unreadable. He looked just as finely dressed he had during the ball, but perhaps more relaxed and without all the make-up and wig, like the night they had first properly met.

Seeing him, face to face, in daylight, left yet another impression on Belle. He seemed a much more solid figure than before. All except the blue, cold eyes. Those never seemed to change.

They shifted soon, however, towards Chip, who was hiding behind Belle, trembling in fear.

Recognizing the young boy, the Prince's expression turned murderous as he began to stride towards the boy.

"What are you doing here?" said the Prince hoarsely, his deep voice painfully bitter as he towered over him.

"It's my fault, Your Highness," said Belle, spreading her arms protectively in front of Chip. "I invited him here."

"The question was not directed towards you," replied the Prince cuttingly, narrowing his eyes as he turned his discerning gaze towards her. "Don't trouble yourself to give him an excuse for his actions. Servants are not allowed to be in this library. You may not be aware of this, but the boy certainly is."

The Prince turned his scathing gaze back towards the boy, who, by now, looked positively traumatised. Belle could not blame him, but she would rather be damned than let the Prince hurt him, like she suspected he had done before.

"Please," spoke Belle boldly, just as the Prince was turning his attentions back towards the boy. "He meant no harm. He's just a boy. If you must punish anyone then punish me instead."

The Prince stilled his movements and slowly turned towards Belle. He took a moment to simply stare at her, his blue eyes peering at her as if she were some strange creature at a zoo. Belle held her ground, not blinking nor moving a single inch as he looked her up and down.

After a moment's silence, the Prince's expression turned almost languid, as if he had become bored at the situation at hand.

"Leave this room, at once," he muttered, his eyes still firmly concentrated on Belle.

Chip looked uneasily towards her before making his way quickly towards the double doors, just as Belle, too, began to follow him. Before she made more than one step in his direction however, the Prince spoke once more.

"Not you," he said flatly, his baritone voice echoing distinctly across the library. He had not shifted his eyes from the spot where Belle had stood mere moments before.

Retracing her steps, she saw her new young acquaintance making his way through the doors, looking hesitantly towards her, unsure of whether to leave her alone with the fearsome mon- master. The librarian simply smiled reassuringly in response however and tilted her head as a sign to show him that she was going to be alright.

Seeming at least a little satisfied, the young boy let the door quietly close behind him.

Realizing the Prince had not spoken, Belle turned her attentions back towards him, only to find that he was still staring at her, unblinking as if he were in the middle of some thought.

"My lord, please excuse the boy," began Belle as she gave him a dutiful bow, wanting to put a quick end to their conversation.

The Prince, however, was not having it.

Ignoring her as if he found her pleasantries a bore, he moved away from his place and passed by Belle, nearly brushing her shoulder as he made his way further into the library and began to speak.

"How do you find it?"

"What?" exclaimed Belle sourly, as she turned to look at him, unable to form a polite response as his pretentious voice got the better of her.

"The library," replied the Prince sarcastically, just as the early red of the sunset, which had been streaming through the windows, caught the gleam of his golden hair.

"It is beautiful," replied Belle, unfazed. She did not move however. She kept close to the doors.

"So, you admit there is at least something a little angelic and joyous about this place?"

Belle blinked.

Registering the perplexed expression on her face, the Prince reacted by smiling in an almost intimate manner, as if he were enjoying some private joke with himself. Glancing towards a random bookcase by his side, he noticed one of the more roughed up titles and slid it out of its place.

His lack of response irked Belle, and she began to feel a little nervous.

What did he want? Clearly it wasn't to read, for Mrs Potts had said the library was rarely frequented. Besides, the young Duke didn't seem like the type to enjoy reading. Was he just toying with her, because of what had happened the other night?

He had spoken of punishment, and she had assumed that meant her dismissal, but clearly, now she could see that that wasn't the case.

So what did he mean by that?

Noting his continued silence as she watched him beginning to flick through a book, Belle began to feel irritated.

If he wanted something of her, why didn't he just come right out and say it? Was he still pursuing her, was that it?

"Is there a particular title you are searching for my lord?" asked Belle as she moved towards him, unable to play along with his antics any longer.

"Oh," replied the Prince, raising his eyebrows in false surprise as he turned to face her, book still in hand. "Nothing in particular."

Letting out a concentrated breath, Belle levelled her eyes as she did her best not to raise her right eyebrow in a sarcastic manner.

The Prince seemed to enjoy this, for he proceeded to smirk.

"What you did, the other night, was inexcusable, and yet you find yourself here…"

He spoke softly, but his eyes darkened and began to fill with obvious scorn. It was a strange combination to behold and it succeeded in making Belle feel a little uneasy.

He had not forgotten.

Clearly though, he seemed a lot more collected than he had during their last encounter and had either justified his actions or simply blamed her for everything that had happened.

"I have Monsieur Cogsworth to thank for that," replied Belle curtly as the Prince moved slowly towards her. She would have moved back, but she didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

The Prince's response however, was not what she had expected. Instead of looking irritable or even angry, he seemed to stop still, his expression turning into that of mild surprise. After a moment, Belle could swear she saw suggestions of humour in his blue eyes, but it was so subtle she could not know for sure.

"I see," he responded quietly, his gaze still lingering on her, although he did not seem to advance any further towards her.

"I understand my errors, and I am well aware that I ought to be dismissed for my terrible actions. However, Monsieur Cogsworth was understanding, something he was under no obligation to be."

The Prince raised his eyebrows at this sudden outburst and looked only blankly towards Belle, which only perplexed her further.

Why on earth was he not angrier at her for getting away with what she did? Where was the punishment he had spoken of? Not that Belle was complaining but…. He seemed almost too detached from the way he was the night he caught her in the ballroom.

"Let me ask you a couple things," he murmured, gesturing towards the two armchairs, which just happened to be in the centre of the room.

"Of course," replied Belle a little defensively, but she did as she was told and took a seat in one of the crimson armchairs. Moving into the one opposite her, the Prince made himself comfortable before knitting his fingers neatly together. Belle noted the ring he wore on his right hand, a golden ring embossed with a coat of arms, no doubt that of his family's.

"Why do you think you are still here?" he asked calmly, yet there was a calculated look in his eyes.

"Because I was given this position, sir," replied Belle. It took all the courage she had not to avoid his gaze.

"A position Monsieur Cogsworth gave to you."

"That's correct," answered Belle briskly, clasping her hands together in her lap.

"Who informed you of this?" asked the Prince, his voice light and breezy.

"Mrs Potts."

"I see," he replied, nodding his head slowly. He paused, as if he were trying to figure something out which was irritating him. After a moment, he looked up at her once more.

"And why do you think you were given this post?" he asked, his nonchalant glance now turning intense as he stared at her. She felt like she was being interrogated and yet at the same time she was aware that the Prince seemed to be really listening to her. He had remembered what she'd said the other night.

She didn't know how she felt about that.

"To keep out of people's way? I believe I was a nuisance in the kitchens."

There was a pause before the Prince continued. The intensity in his eyes seemed to lift, and it was replaced by something a little vague. In truth, Belle could not figure out his reaction to her words. She had expected for him to be pleased at the self-deprecation, but instead he looked curious.

"You have such a low opinion of yourself?"

"No, I do not," she replied impatiently. Why was he asking her all these questions? Why was he even speaking to her? She had assumed after their previous encounter that he would never wish to speak to her again, and she had been satisfied with that. Something about his presence however sent her on edge. She presumed it mostly came from the fact that she would never forget his appalling behaviour the night she met him.

"I am new and I have never worked as a maid before," she continued, her voice defensive. "It is simply a fact."

She had not realized it, but despite her determination to remain as stoic as possible, she had moved her gaze away from him. Realizing her mistake, she quickly looked up, only to find that the Prince was smirking, and he had relaxed his posture, leaning further back into his chair. His white cravat gleamed in the sunlight, a painful contrast to Belle's stained and dusty apron. The entire situation was completely ridiculous, and if she had met the Prince during her errands in Villeneuve, she had no doubt that she would have fallen to her knees and bowed numerous times. She would not have dared to have even uttered a word.

Something about the library however set her at ease, and perhaps because of that disastrous night at the ball, she knew she'd already done the worst by trespassing and insulting him.

"You're troublesome, in other words," concluded the Prince, his voice a little sharp but not angry. "Not exactly surprising, given your past behaviour."

Belle widened her eyes in response and could not help but retort with passion, "Your Highness, your behaviour was not entirely honourable either. I apologize for what happened that night, and I am aware that I should not have been there, but I was not the only party at fault. What you did, or- at least suggested to do was entirely dishonourable!"

Now the Prince did seem irritated. His previous flamboyant nature was replaced by something much darker, something Belle immediately recognized.

"You feel like you are being treated unfairly here, don't you?" spat the Prince, standing up to look down upon her, his eyes filled with scorn.

"Not by my peers perhaps," replied Belle calmly, standing up also. "But you, Your Highness-"

"You feel your life here has been unfair, don't you?" interrupted the young master, pacing slowly towards her.

Belle would have replied, but he sounded oddly hurt. As if she had found his weak spot. For the life of her however she could not figure out what it was. She opened her mouth to speak but the Prince took advantage of her moment of hesitancy.

"Well, let me tell you a useful truth so that you do not set yourself up for disappointment. You want more, I can tell as much, but life, mademoiselle, is unfair. The people of this world are no better than the monsters you encounter in the fictitious books you read. In fact, they are infinitely worse."

Belle blinked in response as the Prince looked down at her, his mouth twisted into a sneer. His voice was bitter, but though his speech was cutting like a sharp dagger aimed towards her heart, he did not sound as if he enjoyed saying the stinging words to her.

Belle frowned as she noticed him look away, down towards her lips. Feeling panic rise within, Belle began to speak rapidly in response, her eyes cast down towards the marble floor.

"I'm afraid I cannot offer you an apt response because the conversation has strayed too far. The only thing I can do is apologize for what happened and assure you that it will never happen again."

She could not believe the words coming out of her mouth, but she simply wanted the conversation to end and for the Prince to leave her in peace. Give him what he wanted, and then he would leave. At least, she prayed that he did.

"I do not want to discuss in detail what happened," replied the Prince after a moment, stepping away and sounding at least a little more subdued than before. "I do not need to justify myself to you. It is clear that you think I am a merciless brute, which perhaps is what you are used to in the village where you came from. I am not as heartless as you think however. I merely supposed you were aware of the world you lived in, but perhaps I was mistaken. You are more naïve than I thought."

Belle felt fury rise again, and she let out a haggard breath and bit her bottom lip. The very nerve of the man! She could not stand him and his pretentious ways. He sounded once more like he had done when he first entered the room.

She wanted to offer some cutting remark but there were too many thoughts flitting through her brain, and besides, she wanted him to leave as quickly as possible. Let him think whatever he wished, it was no concern of hers.

"Belle," continued the young Duke, causing the young woman to flinch ever so slightly. It felt strange to hear him say her name. "I want to know why you placed that rose by my father's portrait. You can talk all you like of disliking the aristocracy, but you cannot deny that you were there out of curiosity."

"I did that because I had heard he had died," replied Belle hesitantly, still aware of his gaze on her but actively avoiding it. She placed her hands carefully in front of her skirt.

"You did it out of respect," repeated the Prince, his voice incredulous.

"Yes, sir."

"For a person you hardly knew."

"Well-" began Belle, looking up, wishing to explain herself but the Prince cut her off.

"He did not deserve it!" he said as he narrowed his eyes and turned away, gripping hold of the top of his armchair, his fingers slowly trying to tear the fabric. "People grieving over his passing, it's utterly despicable."

Belle frowned. She knew she ought not to, but she could not help but ask a question of her own.

"I take it you did not get along well with your father."

She saw him physically stiffen, and felt her stomach drop in response, resigning herself towards what was to come.

Turning slowly towards her, the Prince looked as if he were about to explode with all the rage boiling within himself, but as he lifted his gaze, he stopped.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, their eyes locked in each others gaze, neither of them saying a word.

After a moment, as if suddenly recognizing something beyond her, the Prince's anger strangely began to dissipate and his gaze turned into that of curiosity.

"I did not," he said quietly, his voice low and sombre.

Belle stared at him with wonder, and realized that it was he now, and not she, who looked uncomfortable. She hadn't expected him to answer her question...

He would not meet her gaze.

He seemed so different to the unreachable Prince masquerading about the ballroom. Yet, just as Belle felt speaking once more, he turned towards her with a thunderous look in his eyes.

"You defied my authority, and trespassed onto my property. You will be punished, make no mistake about that," he said through gritted teeth as he approached her once more.

"I defied you because I am under your servitude, but not your slave!" retorted Belle, her voice rising. Her father was right; the Prince really was as monstrous as people said she was. "I had every right to refuse you, and for you to suppose otherwise-"

"How dare you speak back to me in such a manner!" Do you have no sense of your position?"

"Of course, I do, I am perfectly aware but that does not make me a lesser being, a person lower than you with no free will of my own!"

Belle felt herself start to pant as she tried to control the anger swirling within her, her eyes glaring at the Prince with all the disgust she could muster.

The Prince, like a panther looking towards its prey, slowly paced towards her, his eyes dark and full of cynicism.

"Oh darling," he muttered quietly, "you are much mistaken if you have any sense of free will in this place. You described me as a monster. Fine, if that is what you think of me then so be it. You will join me for dinner."

Belle let her mouth drop in shock as the Prince towered over her.

"What on earth-"

"And that is not a request," he snarled as he leaned towards her to give her one last scathing look before swiftly turning around and exiting the library, letting the door slam harshly behind him.

Belle sank into her chair. Her father was wrong. The Prince was not a beast, he was out of his mind.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: Hey guys, here's a new chapter! Love all the support as always, it means so much to me! I know that my updates have been lousy lately, but since this is a hobby, I can't keep it as regular as you guys want it to be. I hope you'll forgive me for that, and if that should be a problem, then I'm really sorry, it's just the way it is. Most of you have been lovely with your messages, and I really sincerely appreciate them because it keeps this story alive and you all help me with your suggestions and it does affect the story. I promise you this story will keep going, and I will try and update when I can! Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, again, hard to not go OOC but hey, that's why this story is here! As always, please like, follow and review! Happy reading guys!

Chapter 11

Although Belle might've assumed otherwise, she was not alone in questioning her own actions. The Prince left the library just as equally stunned, but he was also furious at what had just occurred.

Slamming the door behind him, the young man began to stalk down the hallway, clenching and unclenching his hands as he tried to understand what had possessed him to ask that final ridiculous question.

What was he thinking?

You will join me for dinner?!

He growled in frustration as he flung open a set of doors which led to the east staircase.

Every single time he met that strange creature, he seemed to lose his nerve and act out irrationally, so much so that he hardly seemed to be in control over what he was doing. He could not understand it. She was a servant for goodness sake! Comparing himself to that wretched creature was like comparing a lion to a mouse. He had no reason to be rattled by her theatrics and outbursts but every time he saw he just-

He should never have paid any attention to her in the first place, let alone allowed Cogsworth to give that position in the library.

It was nonsensical.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, the Prince felt his anger begin to subside as a new thought entered his mind. Furrowing his eyebrows in contemplation, he gripped hold of the banister beside him and stopped to think.

Come to think of it, he hadn't exactly asked her... Yes, that's right. He had more or less yelled her at her to join him for dinner.

Letting out a haggard breath, the Prince lifted a hand to his brow as he felt his temples begin to hurt.

It wasn't like he was ashamed that he had spoken in an authoritative manner; by the time he had come to his senses, he began to speak to her in the way that he ought to have, as every master does towards a servant.

But given the fact that he had wanted her to come to dinner, for god knows why, he knew he ought to have spoken in perhaps a more gentlemanly manner. Given her prickly nature, she was hardly going to want to join him if he had basically barked at her.

He deserved to dig up a hole in the rose gardens and bury himself in it for his stupidity.

He had never suffered from such problems before. Partly because nobody had ever disobeyed him in the past, and as for women, they usually fawned over him and tended to sometimes lift the hems of their dresses in order to gain even an ounce of his attention.

He had always been aware of his position as the heir to his father's Dukedom, aware of his rank in society, aware of those who looked at him hungrily, not just at his obvious handsomeness, but more importantly, the jewels which he was adorned with. He had also always been aware of those below him, persons who were not worth his time, not worth anything, unless they had a pretty face, and even then, they only captured his attention for a short amount of time…

Lifting his gaze slowly, the Prince frowned as he looked down the darkening corridor which lead to the portrait gallery. It was nearing twilight, and he could see the moon appearing across the indigo sky. It was his favourite time of day...

Glancing at the doors which lead to the drawing room, his thoughts annoyingly turned back towards…

This woman… She was unlike any human that he had ever encountered before.

And that was not exactly in a good way.

He had only been in her presence twice, and yet each time he seemed to forget who he was, even who she was. It was disconcerting, and made him feel on edge. She made him feel….

Nervous.

No matter how much he regretted his actions however, he could never reverse what he had allowed to happen. Part of him was strangely grateful she looked upon him with scorn, as if he were the very devil. In truth, she was wrong to think in those terms, but he had simply been too stunned to react rationally the first time he had met her.

She was far too outspoken, but somehow, she had managed to get away with it.

Twice.

Shrugging his shoulders, the Prince lent off the banister and made his way through the hallway into the portrait gallery. The maids were beginning to light the candles for the evening. Each curtsied silently as the young master passed by but he ignored them, staring straight ahead down the hallway.

Perhaps he had asked her to join him because he wanted to challenge her. Find out what it was about her that made him seem to become so unhinged. It was almost like a duel, and he had already let her win twice.

The Prince smiled.

Well, not a third time. And when he did finally succeed in finding out her weak spot, he would lose all interest in her and be able to move on. Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to than that of an overtly curious mind. Albeit, it was one that he found strangely peculiar, but it belonged nevertheless to a lowly peasant girl. Right now, he had his new position to think of, and all that _that_ entailed.

"She is a pretty one though, isn't she? Not a classic blonde, but still, she has a pretty nose."

The Prince looked up swiftly, taken out of his thoughts by the sounds of whispers coming from the grand entrance.

Pacing slowly towards the entrance to the castle, the Prince narrowed his eyes as he saw two guardsmen standing near the doorway, which was hanging slightly open. The shorter of the two was leaning against a column in an almost swagger-like fashion.

Not at all the posture a guardsman ought to be adopting.

The Prince's eyes grew into slits as he made his way silently towards them, hidden in the darkness.

"Do you really think so?" said the taller of the two, sounding rather unconvinced.

"Oh, Belle is prettiest girl in this castle, even a fool can see that!" retorted the shorter one. "And I'm going to court her, you'll see. That figure she has too, like a dancer… I'll get her somehow, steal a kiss, hey, maybe I'll even sneak into the maids' quarters one night and-"

The Prince, who had been about to scold the repugnant pig for leaning against one of his columns, flew into a murderous rage as he heard the idiot utter Belle's name and speak of her in, what he felt were, odious terms.

"How dare you speak in such a manner!" snarled the Prince has he grabbed the guardsman's collar and lifted him up against the column.

"What?" spluttered the guard as he stared at the master of the castle in fear, terrified but equally confused.

"You are the very scum of this earth," growled the young Duke, his grip so strong the guardsman felt his shoulder begin to scream in pain. "You deserve to be hung, drawn and quartered for the way you just spoke!"

The other guardsman, completely lost for words, simply gaped at his colleague and stood still behind the Prince, unable to comprehend what was happening before him. Two seconds ago, they had been having a normal conversation and suddenly out of nowhere, like a panther in the night…

"I'm s-sorry Your Highness, I don't understand-" quivered his unfortunate friend, who was staring in horror at the Prince, who looked as if he wanted to choke him right there on the spot.

"You better listen and listen well," interrupted the Prince, his voice hardly above a whisper. "Your cretinous mouth does not even deserve to utter her name, let alone speak of her in such disgusting terms, but by doing so, I'm afraid you now find yourself in a bit of a predicament. This is what I advise you to do. Quit this place by morning, and I really suggest you do, because if I ever see your toad-like face ever again anywhere near my premises, I will personally guide you into the heart of woods and gladly watch with satisfaction as I slowly feed you to the wolves."

The guardsman's face slowly turned to the colour of parchment as the Prince's scathing words entered his ears, and he found himself just as lost for words as his friend, who was still standing frozen on the spot just in front of him, behind the Prince. He was hardly aware the Prince had actually lifted him off the ground, and that his feet were dangling pathetically in mid-air, mostly because he couldn't escape the harsh blue eyes which were glaring at him with such malice that he did not even dare to look away.

Luckily for the guardsman, a lazy clap began echo across the room just as the Prince began to hear somebody's footsteps coming from behind. Keeping his unyielding grip on the guardsman, the young Duke turned around to see the Marquis, his other close acquaintance who still staying at the castle, slowly approaching him.

"I must say, this is quite a spectacle," remarked the Marquis, giving a sly smile as he came closer towards the odd group. "Is this another one of your favourites forms of entertainment my dear friend? Mercilessly abusing your servants?"

"Just the ones that annoy me," muttered the Prince, feeling slightly ashamed the Marquis had caught him at a bad moment. He released the guardsman roughly and swiftly turned around to face his friend, ignoring the idiot behind him who had proceeded to slump and fall onto the floor.

"And what did this one do?" asked the Marquis, raising his eyebrows as he watched the other guardsman hastily help his friend up, careful not to make any sudden sounds.

"He just spoke in a way which I displeased me," replied the Prince coldly, and did not elaborate any further as he turned to see the two guardsmen leave through the grand entrance and back out into the night. He wanted to say more to that scumbag, but now that he was in the presence of the Marquis, he saw it would have been extremely inappropriate for him to converse with a mere guardsman. He felt his eye tick slightly as the doors closed behind them, giving a soft thud.

As his rage quietened down however, the Prince began to feel a little embarrassed about the whole ordeal. He was sure the Marquis would never have behaved in such a manner, even given his drinking habits.

"You seem quite rattled," spoke the Marquis, interrupting the Prince's thoughts as he strutted towards the fireplace, where, only recently the day before, Augustin had sitting talking to the Prince. "What did that idiot say that made you fly into such a spectacular rage?"

"The guard?" said the Prince flippantly as he joined his friend, who was pouring himself a glass of wine and sitting himself down in one of the armchairs. "It doesn't matter. There are more important matters to discuss, such as I'd like to know how your day has been. I have not spoken to you since the night before."

"Oh, just so and so. You know I find it very easy to keep myself occupied. I heard you had a little spat with Augustin," said the Marquis languidly as he leaned back into his armchair. "You know he's left, right?"

"Yes, I know," replied the Prince begrudgingly, as if he would rather avoid the subject. "I don't understand him these days."

"He's just jealous," yawned the Marquis as he closed his eyes. "And why not? You are soon to be a Duke. Whereas he will never be anywhere near our rank in society. It's high time he realized you can no longer be near him."

"I thought you liked Augustine," said the Prince as he leaned against the mantelpiece and frowned towards the portly Marquis.

The man in question opened his eyes groggily in surprise and looked towards the future Duke, whose towering form was only made that much more intimidating by the fire burning beside him; a glowing fire which turned his already handsome features into striking ones, making him almost like a Grecian god.

"I do like Augustine," said the Marquis before smiling and shaking his head incredulously. "But comparing the two of you is like comparing this castle to one of your petty villages. If he wasn't a childhood friend, you won't give him the time of day. Heck, he wouldn't even be allowed in this castle. You know it's true."

The Prince gritted his teeth, but he did not argue back. The Marquis was right, and, moreover, realistic. Perhaps Augustine already knew, perhaps he had anticipated ever since his father's death…

"Who is this Belle by the way?"

"What?" stammered the Prince, turning towards the Marquis with a blank expression on his face.

"I knew it," sighed the Marquis, smirking as he sipped his wine. "I may look like I don't listen my dear Prince but that doesn't mean I don't use these ears of mine. I saw the entire thing, you don't need to explain."

The Prince closed his mouth, unable to defend himself or make something up as the Marquis had been observing from the very beginning.

He was spared further humiliation however, by the arrival of Lumiere, who was trotting down the portrait gallery, candelabra in hand.

"Your Highness? Oh, Your Highness!" echoed his voice, causing the Marquis to roll his eyes.

"Oh, here comes your puppy dog," he said flatly as he slowly got up from his seat. "Don't think this conversation is over, my dear friend. I want to hear all about this girl of yours."

The Prince did not comment any further, and merely looked warily towards his friend as Lumiere came through the archway and into the grand entrance.

"Your Highness!" exclaimed Lumiere, bowing graciously before the Prince. "I have been searching for your everywhere!"

"Is that so," said the Prince gruffly as the Marquis returned his glass to the tray table, stiffening slightly with barely contained laughter.

"Yes, sir, for you have not informed us yet about what you would like us to prepare for dinner. Will the Marquis be joining you?"

"I shall pass for tonight," replied the Marquis, lifting his hand passively as he slouched towards the grand staircase. "I have more than enough to keep me occupied in my quarters for tonight, and will be turning in early. Goodnight, Your Highness."

The Marquis offered an over the top bow and gave the Prince a quick smirk before turning around and making his way up the staircase.

"I see," said Lumiere, his voice wavering slightly as he didn't what to think about how the Marquis had just blatantly mocked him.

"Lumiere, as a matter of fact, I would like you to arrange a dinner for me tonight."

The young man turned swiftly towards his master, who was staring at him with a pained expression on his face, which proved to be just as equally confusing to Lumiere as the Marquis's strange antics.

"Of course, Your Highness," he replied, giving the young master a pleasing smile. "Is it just for you or-"

"I would like two place settings," said the Prince, his voice sounding rather odd. The maids had not yet made their way into the grand entrance, so it was still hard for Lumiere to fully make out the Prince's expression, but he could tell it was not that of boredom, which was how the young master usually tended to look.

"Two place settings sir, in the dining room?" repeated Lumiere. He had his wits about him enough to know the Prince was not referring to the Marquis, and it could not be Monsieur Augustine so it had to be somebody else… No, it could not be-

"I would like you to inform the mademoiselle currently working in the library to come down at precisely eight o'clock, which is in two hours' time. Do you understand Lumiere?"

"Of course, Your Highness," breathed Lumiere as he stared at the master in wonder, who was currently staring cautiously at the maids who were slowly making their way across the entrance hall, beginning to light up the candles dotted all around the grand staircase.

"And Lumiere-"

"Yes, sir."

"Please inform her as quickly as possible. And take care not to-"

Just as the Prince was about to continue, one of the maids passed by to light one of the candelabras by the fireplace. And she turned, she gave the Prince a quick curtsy before making her way back towards the staircase.

The Prince turned to glare at Lumiere, and let out a sigh of annoyance.

"Make sure you keep this as private as possible," he said through gritted teeth before turning away and bounding up the marble staircase so quickly that Lumiere barely had anytime to respond and bow in return.

…..

"Oh dear."

Mrs Potts arranged the two place settings calmly, making sure the forks and knives all sat parallel to each other.

"Oh dear."

Lumiere began to light two candelabras and placed them on either side of the long table.

"Oh dear! What have I done-"

"Oh, will you calm down Cogsworth!" exclaimed Lumiere, finally losing it as he turned towards the neurotic man who was pacing up and down the carpet. "This is not helping!"

"It's all my fault," moaned Cogsworth as he stared dejectedly towards the door in despair.

"It is not your fault and this is what it is," replied Mrs Potts calmly as she finished arranging the table. "Shall I start to bring up the starters?"

"How can you talk about starters when the master is about to have dinner with the- the peasant girl-"

"Oh shush, Cogsworth," replied Mrs Potts curtly, tapping the poor man on the shoulder. "She could do him some good, and she won't be in any real danger. The master is not as bad as most make him out to be."

"I really do not understand your false sense of optimism Mrs Potts but even taking that into account does not excuse the fact that things have never escalated like this before!" retorted Cogsworth as he shook his hands in front of the Head Housekeeper in vain. "He has never dined with a servant before, let alone any woman he has courted in the past! He hates women who talk, we all know that!"

"We shall stand guard by the door and make sure nothing happens, mon capitaine," replied Lumiere, who was starting to take a little pity on his friend.

"I shudder to think what he's thinking," replied Cogsworth nevertheless, stroking his moustache worriedly. "Shameful business, shameful business…."

"What did she say exactly when you informed her of the dinner Lumiere?" asked Mrs Potts, smoothing her apron.

"Er, just the usual thing one might say," replied Lumiere as he gestured vaguely with his hands, causing Mrs Potts to immediate question him.

"She said she would think about it!" said Lumiere hastily in response. "She said something about manners and that since I had spoken so kindly towards her, she would think about it. I'm sure she will come down!"

Cogsworth began to miserably shake his head in response and turned around to face the fireplace, just as Mrs Cogsworth sighed exasperatedly.

"What?" said Lumiere bluntly, feeling a little insulted by their less than enthusiastic response, just as the door flung open.

The Prince, who had nervously entered the room, gave a quick glance towards the table before turning towards his heads of staff, who strangely all seemed to be standing by the fireplace, as if they were conspiring together.

"Well, where is she?" asked the young master, his voice sounding unusually as rough as nails as he glared at them, not bothering to put up a front.

"She has not come down yet, sir-"

"I went to her room, but found it to be empty," replied the Prince, who sounded, to put it lightly, very displeased. He was dressed in his evening attire, a navy-blue coat with golden trimmings, but unlike the night of the ball, he remained sans wig.

The heads of staff involuntarily let out gasps as they listened to the master, who had never once ventured down into the kitchens, at least, not since he was a boy when his mother was still alive.

"Sir, you went to the kitchens in search of her?" remarked Mrs Potts, unable to believe her ears as she stared at the Prince incredulously. She knew the master had an interest in the girl, but she didn't know it stretched so far that he would go down to the-

"The kitchens?" repeated the future Duke slowly, his voice hollow and dull as he turned to look at each of his servants. "What do you mean, the kitchens."

The three heads of staff each felt their stomachs sink as the master's expression grew dark and almost serene. None of them said a word.

"I was referring to the quarters in the East Wing, which was where I requested you to put her Cogsworth, as her new post is entirely different to that of a scullery maid."

"I'm sorry, Your Highness!" exclaimed Cogsworth, breaking the tense atmosphere as he bowed towards the young master. "I am aware of what you requested, but the girl-"

"The girl wished to stay in her current quarters," finished Mrs Potts calmly, stepping towards the Prince, her gaze straight and direct. "She told me so herself. I think she enjoys the company and does not wish to be alone."

"She enjoys the company. The company of scullery maids and plongeurs," breathed the Prince, staring into the fire with wide eyes as he let that information sink in.

Cogsworth looked nervously towards Lumiere, who seemed just as uneasy as he did. This was not a good sign.

"Where is she, Lumiere?" asked the Prince, his voice dangerously soft as he turned to look at his footman, his mouth shaped into that of a thin line of disapproval.

"She said, er, she was very polite sir and she even-"

"Get to the point," said the Prince through gritted teeth.

"The reason why she is not here, the reason why she may not be coming this evening, is because she didn't exactly say definitively that she would come, in fact, she more or less said she would think about it?"

Lumiere knew he had made a mistake the minute the words left his mouth, but there wasn't much else he could have said at that point.

Cogsworth felt a pin drop before the inevitable explosion destroyed the unbearable silence.

"WHAT?!"


	12. Chapter 12

Author's note: Thank you guys for being so patient! This chapter is a follow up chapter so it's mostly bridge, but the next chapter is going to be a really REALLY big one – Jane Eyre fans might be able to guess what is about to happen. If you haven't noticed already, I take a lot of tropes from that book (hey this is fanfiction I'm sure it's fine) and this is going to continue. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter and I apologize in advance for Plumette :P Happy reading everyone!

Chapter 12

The problem had arisen just as she was getting ready to leave. Belle had given a rather vague answer to Lumiere, but it was partially because she was unsure over whether it was entirely suitable that she be left in the same room as the Prince for the second time that day. There was also the other fact to consider; she was too shocked in all honesty, to give a substantial answer.

Afterwards she realized she probably had very little say on the matter, but it did not stop her from considering the possible scenario of escaping if only for a few hours through the latch window in her room. She knew of course that this was purely wishful thinking, and as much as she desperately wanted to avoid the master of the castle, she had her father and her home to think about.

The reason behind her shock was less to do with Lumiere's words and more to do with the fact that they had come so soon after her squabble with the Prince. Their entire conversation had been puzzling at the very least, and Belle was still wrapping her head around the situation as she made her way down to the kitchens for supper. In truth, she wondered whether she had possibly dreamt the final scathing words he had thrown at her, but Lumiere's prompt arrival to the kitchens, just as she was about to change, confirmed that their conversation had been entirely real and not a figment of her imagination.

Belle looked into the tiny square mirror which hung on the wall beside the door of her bedroom and let out a tense sigh.

She'd chosen the only decent item of clothing she possessed, a plain black dress which Mrs Potts had given to her the morning after the night she'd first arrived. It wasn't flattering, but not inappropriate either, and Belle was thankful for this because it would act as a constant reminder to help keep herself in check and always remember her station. She had to be cautious, regardless of how much the Prince would provoke her to be outspoken. She had angered him once already today for commenting on his father. Her tactlessness had led to this current situation of having to dine with him.

Oh why oh why had she not learnt from her previous mistakes? It wasn't as if his outburst had been that shocking. To be fair, it was indeed he who had raised the subject of his father's portrait in the first place, but she could have easily diverted the conversation elsewhere.

His sudden change in countenance however, had ignited her curiosity. Why had he suddenly brought up a subject which clearly caused him so much grief and anger? And to her, a stranger not less?

She couldn't understand the reasoning behind his seemingly random actions and it caused her to be nervous even just thinking about him.

Such thoughts were swimming around Belle's mind just as she was about to leave her room and head for the dining room upstairs, but just as she opened the door, she came face to face with Plumette, whose expression quickly turned from that of excitement to what can only be described as unmitigated horror.

"Hello Plumette?" said Belle, her voice rising in confusion as she took note of the strange look on Plumette's face.

"What on earth are you wearing?" exclaimed Plumette, gesturing towards Belle's dress as if it were a dishrag.

"It's my dress," replied Belle simply, lifting her skirt and giving a small smile.

"You call that a dress?" remarked Plumette flatly, her voice sounding pitiful rather than narcissistic, clearly incredulous towards Belle's lack of fashion sense.

"Well, it's the only one I have. Besides, I-"

"You cannot dine with the Prince looking like that," scoffed Plumette. "Even if your manners cannot be corrected, the least you can do is look presentable. Come with me."

And without further ado, Plumette proceeded to take Belle's hand and pull her out into the corridor.

"Wait, wait," stammered Belle. "You know about the sinner?"

"Of course, I do!" replied Plumette, her brown eyes flashing with outrage. "This is a castle my dear and the walls naturally have eyes and ears."

"But I'm going to be late-" retorted Belle, but Plumette interrupted her by pulling further down the walkway, towards the room at the very end of the hall.

"Don't worry mademoiselle, I know just the gown. You're not a scullery maid anymore, so you'll be needing decent clothing anyway."

With anyone else perhaps, Belle might've protested, but the headstrong Head Housemaid was stubborn and Belle knew there was no getting out of it. The easiest thing to do would be to see it through. She only prayed that whatever Plumette had in mind would be solved quickly and that she could hurry up to the dining hall. Belle had planned to arrive relatively early, in fact before their official meeting time, mostly because she felt it was her duty to arrive before the Prince and not keep him waiting. She shuddered to think he would end up scolding her twice in one day. That was definitely something she wanted to avoid at all costs.

"Here we are!" said Plumette cheerily as she pulled something from out of her closet and swiftly handed it to Belle.

It was a beautiful gown of emerald green, simple in cut but the fabric was the finest silk Belle had ever seen.

"Plumette," breathed Belle as her eyes widened in disbelief. "How did you-"

"Never mind that," replied Plumette dismissively. "The point is this will be perfect for you tonight."

"But I couldn't possibly. It's too much, it would be inappropriate to wear and-"

"I know, I know," sighed Plumette. "You don't want to draw attention to yourself. But mademoiselle, you have captured the attentions of the Prince, whether you like it or not. This is your chance. You must think of it as an opportunity. Do you realize how lucky you are, how many other maids in this castle crave for this position you currently find yourself in, within a matter of weeks?"

As Plumette's voice turned more sombre, Belle began to listen in earnest and consider her words. Everything she was saying was true. And yet Belle still felt an odd pit in her stomach, which seemed to suggest that she was rejecting Plumette's words, even though she partially agreed with what she was saying.

"I understand your point," replied Belle as she stared down at the dress in her hands. She felt the sudden urge to be honest.

"But?" murmured Plumette, lifting her eyebrows in a sly manner.

"But the Prince, regardless of his societal rank, is entirely disagreeable," replied Belle hotly, lifting her gaze to look at Plumette directly. "I cannot see what advantage I could have from associating with that mo- with him!"

Plumette smiled in an almost incredulous manner before shaking her head and turning away.

"That," she stated as she began to search for something through her drawers.

"I'm sorry?" stammered Belle, completely nonplussed as to what Plumette was referring to.

"That," repeated Plumette as she lifted a long finger towards Belle and slowly turned around with a pair of slipper in her other hand, "is the reason why he has taken such a keen interest in you."

"I don't understand," replied Belle, frowning as she shook her head in confusion.

Plumette sighed and gestured for Belle to sit down on the side of her bed.

"And all the better that you don't," she replied quietly before quickly changing her pace and turning to face Belle.

"Now, let's get you out of that ragged, er, thing you are currently wearing."

"What?" replied the young women perched on the end of the bed.

"Your clothes, mademoiselle!"

"Oh, really Plumette, please don't worry about it, I'm already late as it is! If I stay here much longer I'm going to get in trouble!" retorted Belle, hastily getting up.

"It won't take very long mademoiselle; your hair is a little unfortunate but it will have to do."

Before Belle could form a proper reply beyond that of a protesting exclaim, Plumette proceeded to pull her up, and turn her swiftly around. By this point, there was very little that could be done, so Belle complied. By the time they'd finished, Belle was sure she was not only spectacularly late but also that she was going to be in serious trouble. As she turned to leave, Plumette offered a necklace that, according to her, would go well with her gown, but Belle refused.

That really would be stepping over the line.

Just as she reached for the doorknob however, their conversation was interrupted by the sounds of doors slamming and people shouting and protesting.

Belle turned towards Plumette, who looked suddenly very grim.

It didn't sound good.

Before either of them could speak however, the sounds seemed to be coming closer and closer, and soon enough footsteps began to echo from above. Belle could hear the voice of Cogsworth, who seemed extremely agitated.

"Your Highness, I must insist I will find her!"

Belle couldn't help but gasp and turn towards Plumette worriedly.

"The Prince wouldn't come down to the kitchens, would he? He would see it as something beneath him. Surely he has too much pride to venture here."

"Mademoiselle," replied Plumette hastily, grabbing hold of Belle's hand. "I'm so sorry, I know from reputation of the Prince's temper but I didn't think he would go so far as to-"

"Where is she?!" came a thunderous voice from down the hallway, causing both Belle and Plumette to flinch in response.

Nevertheless, Belle hardened her gaze and spoke firmly towards Plumette.

"Stay here, I will deal with this."

"But mademoiselle-"

Belle, however, paid no heed to Plumette's words and stepped out into the hallway, where the Prince was striding down towards her, followed by Cogsworth, Lumiere and Mrs Potts, behind whom stood the kitchen staff, who were all looking on in disbelief, unable to believe what they were seeing.

Belle, for her part, stood her ground and turned towards the Prince resolutely, trying her best to mask the fact that her heart was beating so rapidly against her chest that she could feel the blood pumping through her veins. Judging by the murderous look in the Prince's blue eyes, she was pretty sure that she was, at the very least, going to be turned out of the castle that very night.

"Where have you been," snarled the Prince as he came to stand in front of her. "I've been searching for you all over the castle!"

From a distance, the master of the castle looked angry, but at such close proximity, where Belle could see very clearly him heaving with fury, she could feel the full extent of his rage. He was dressed in evening attire, very different compared to a few hours ago when they'd met in the library. Belle was mildly surprised by this; she had not expected him to make such an effort.

"How dare you defy my orders, when I specifically told you-" continued the Prince but his voice faltered when his gaze slid away from Belle's eyes.

He seemed to take a slight step back and his expression changed to that of bewilderment as he quickly took notice of the gown she wore.

Taking this brief moment of silence as an opportunity to interject and smooth over the situation as much as possible, Belle spoke.

"Your Highness," she began, bowing once before continuing. "I apologize for my tardiness, I had every intention of attending, and I am terribly sorry for having kept you waiting, however-"

"Your Highness, it is my fault!"

Belle turned around in shock as she saw Plumette come out of her room and then hurtle down the hall.

"Plumette, I told you to-" began Belle hoarsely, but the housemaid ran past her and bowed deeply before the Prince, who seemed a little conflicted as to how he ought to react to the strange creature before him.

"Master, it is I who is at fault here, not the young mademoiselle," exclaimed Plumette, her voice pleading but clearly earnest. "She was indeed getting ready to leave, but I insisted that she change into a more suitable dress and-"

"You mean that gown she is currently wearing right now?" questioned the Prince, his voice much more subdued compared to before, as he pointed towards Belle, who was standing still just behind Plumette, looking rather uncomfortable as every person within visible vicinity turned to look at her.

"Yes, Your Highness," replied Plumette, giving a quick curtsy. "I thought it would please you."

What followed was a prolonged silence, which seemed to go on for an age as Belle felt the Prince's gaze on her, even as she avoided it by staring down at the ground.

"I should have you both turned out of my estate tonight for such theatrics," said the Prince in a low voice, causing the already reasonably high tension in the room to rise to breaking point.

Belle did not dare lift her gaze.

"However," continued the Prince after a moment, his voice turning slightly softer, "Your intentions were well meant. That gown is pleasing to the eye, and you are right, it does suit her. For this reason, you will be allowed to remain here. Naturally however there will be consequences to your actions. Cogsworth, you may see to that."

Cogsworth, who was huddled with the rest of the staff behind, replied quickly that he would.

Belle looked on in confusion as Plumette began to thank the Prince and bow continuously before him.

Glancing at the clock hanging on the wall, Belle read that it was ten minutes past their meeting time. Not as late as she had previously thought….

"Well," growled the Prince, turning to look behind himself towards the staff who were still standing there with apprehensive looks on their faces, "what are you still doing there, standing about? Get back to work!"

After a moment of dreaded silence, during which the maids and cooks seemed at a loss as to what to do with themselves, Lumiere proceeded to clap his hands and swiftly order the staff to return back to the kitchens.

Belle caught the eye of Mrs Potts, who seemed to want to speak to her, just as Cogsworth gestured towards Plumette to follow him back upstairs. Hastily giving a final curtsy towards the Prince, whose eyes remained steadily fixed on Belle, the young housemaid moved quickly past him and followed Cogsworth, but not before giving Lumiere a secret squeeze of the hand. Seeing that the young master remained stoically in front of Belle, Mrs Potts, rather dejectedly, turned around and followed the rest of the group back towards the kitchens, the source of the clattering sounds of pots and pans, which were now echoing off the walls.

Belle turned her attentions back to the disgruntled man standing in front of her.

She knew, even before the he began to speak, that the Prince was not done with her yet.

"Yet again you have managed to find a way to anger me," he began to murmur, his piercing blue eyes narrowing slightly. "That is twice is one day mademoiselle."

"I apologize profusely," replied Belle, and this time she really meant it. "Please do not punish Plumette severely, she was only trying to help. If there is anyone who should take the punishment, it is me, for being late and keeping you waiting."

The Prince raised his eyebrows in surprise. Clearly, he had been expecting some form of defiance from her, but Belle felt it unfair that Plumette had unwittingly ended up in the middle of their dispute and had even tried to protect her in the process.

"I accept your, er, apology," replied the Prince with some level of difficulty as he shifted his feet uncomfortably, as if the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. "I have lost my appetite at present so we will arrange the dinner for another night. After all, I consider it the least you can do in exchange for your original offense of trespassing upon my property in the middle of the night."

Belle felt a strong urge to roll her eyes, but she resisted it by looking down at the stone floor. In the back of her mind, she prayed that one dinner with him would put an end to his attentions and that she could return to anonymity. If such a thing were possible, especially after what had happened. At least in the library she could keep away from most of the gossip.

Perhaps it was due to her lack of response, but the Prince continued on.

"As to the other matter of your room, I am aware that you-"

"What is wrong with my room?" interrupted Belle, her voice slightly interrogative as she lifted her gaze once more, unaware that she had let go of the demure attitude she had, up until that moment, managed to uphold.

The Prince smirked in response and he had an almost victorious look in his eye. He did not comment on this however, and merely answered her question.

"You still sleep in the kitchens, is that right?"

"Yes, sir, that would be correct," replied Belle defensively as she furrowed her eyebrows and stared at him with apprehension. He suddenly looked rather malicious.

"Would you show me your sleeping quarters?" he asked, his voice light and utterly pretentious. He still wore an irksome smile on his face.

Belle's eyes widened as she considered his words. Take him, the Prince….. Into her... private…

"Sir-" spluttered Belle, but the Prince quickly interjected, his voice hard and brittle.

"You are the current librarian of this castle. It is entirely inappropriate for you to be sleeping in the kitchens. Not only is it below your station but it also goes against etiquette. I have heard from Mrs Potts that you prefer the kitchens to the East Wing. Such a complete lack of respect towards both me and this castle is something I cannot abide by. So, I would like to inspect your sleeping quarters to try and discover why you currently hold such fascination over it. Is that clear?"

His gaze was still light and humorous, but there were hidden depths, signs of darkness which made him look almost even more dangerous when he had come striding down the hallway moments before. Belle breathed unsteadily as she tried to form a reply.

"My sleeping quarters are this way," she replied, her voice, for the first time since their first encounter, shaky and little unstable.

Gesturing towards the left-hand side door behind her, Belle winced as she turned around and opened her door, quickly lighting a candle on her bedside table.

She had expected the Prince to follow her indoors, but he remained just at the edge of her door, peering inside, his arms folded stiffly behind his back. No doubt he had some form of propriety. He had an odd look on his face, as if he never seen a bedroom of this size before.

"My washing chamber alone are bigger than this, this… place," he muttered after a moment, the tone of voice echoing his disbelief. His golden mane looked almost like honey in the dark flickering candlelight.

Belle, feeling obvious discomfort, twisted her fingers as she waited for further response. She had very little here, but still, it was still rather disconcerting.

"How on earth can you possibly prefer this dingy old prison over the East Wing?" exclaimed the Prince, a bewildered look on his face. Belle had expected him to be angry, but sounded more incredulous than furious. "I don't understand it. This room is freezing, and not to mention the ceiling is currently leaking."

He proceeded to point towards said ceiling, where, sure enough, a couple drops of water were coming down and landing neatly into a tin bucket, which Belle had conveniently placed in front of the windowsill.

"It may be hard for Your Highness to understand," replied Belle begrudgingly, picking up the candelabra and turning to face him, "but I enjoy the company of the staff, especially that of Mrs Potts, and I would miss it terribly if I moved to the East Wing. Working in the library is isolating as it is, and if I were to take the quarters upstairs, I would be alone for a considerable amount of time. After all, I am a member of staff here and would like to remain within the social circle and not be segregated."

The Prince blinked in response, and this time, it was his turn to stare at her with doubt and discern.

"How can you enjoy their company, when all they do is gossip behind your back, scorn and jeer at you and leave you alienated?"

Belle felt her breath falter as she listened to the Prince's surprising response. How on earth-

"How- where did you hear such a thing?" was all she managed to utter, but not without stuttering.

The Prince's gaze turned into that of alarm, which was strange since Belle assumed he would be satisfied to see her obvious discomfort. Turning his head away from her gaze, the Prince almost looked annoyed.

Surely, he had just guessed blindly, unaware of how close he was to the truth. Belle genuinely did want to stay where she was, in the kitchens with people she already knew. She had convinced herself a couple days ago that all she needed to do was let people get used to her, and then, just maybe, she would be able to get to know one of the maids and perhaps even call them a friend. She realized that this was a real chance to try and bond with those around her, while she still had a relatively clean while slate. Now, however…

"Never mind where I heard it," replied the Prince dismissively, his voice cold and stilted, immediately snapping Belle out from her thoughts. "The point is you can no longer remain here. You will move your belongings this very night and take lodgings in the East Wing. You have already tested my patience enough. If you ever vex me again, I will turn you out of this castle and you can be utterly confident in the fact that I will and without a second thought."

As much as she wanted to comply, and as much as she enjoyed the library, she could not stand the idea of being alone up there, trapped almost, utterly….

Alone.

"Sir," exclaimed Belle just as her heart began to sink. What was she thinking?

The Prince, who had been about to turn away, looked back at her with disbelief in his blue eyes.

"Did you not just hear a word I said?"

"I will do as you have instructed," stated Belle calmly, giving a swift bow. "Only I would like to ask a favour."

The Prince stared at her as if she were insane.

"I- I would like the boy, Chip, to be able to come to library. He seems to be a keen reader and I would like to help him-"

"He is a servant's son," interjected the Prince as he narrowed his eyes and came closer towards Belle, his voice low and utterly lacking in any warmth. "He has no place there. I would be careful if I were you. I am not somebody to be trifled with and I do not negotiate with servants."

Although he seemed a lot calmer than before, that did not stop Belle from feeling a chill down her spine. There was that darkness again which seemed to permeate from him…

Nevertheless, she persevered upon remembering the countless girls she had taught to read in Villeneuve, and the well-off boys who marched every morning to the local school, completely unaware of how fortunate they were to receive such education.

Much like the man standing before her, whose library was filled with dusty, untouched books…

"Please sir," said Belle softly, her voice quiet and subdued, "I want to help him, he is eager to learn, and it seems such a waste to restraining him from books he wishes to read. I understand that he would be using your resources, and if that should be inappropriate, I would be happy to give back some of my salary in order from him to be able to read some books."

Through the darkness it was hard to make out the Prince's expression. Somebody had dimed the hallway lights slightly, so the Prince looked much more like a silhouette than an actual figure. It took him a while to reply, but Belle waited patiently with bated breath.

"You would never be able to afford the lending of those books, even if you so wished it," replied the Prince quietly, his voice still cold and distant. Belle looked down at the floor in defeat.

He sounded, however, weirdly melancholic…

"Nevertheless, I will allow you to let the boy come once a week. He may read one book per visit, and only with your supervision. If a single book is missing, and believe me, I will know, then I shall have you, as well as he and his mother turned out of this house. Is that understood?"

He spoke all of this as if it gave him next to no pleasure, and his voice was just as bitter and sharp as before.

Belle blinked a couple times, unable to believe her ears. Nevertheless, she gave a quick reply and curtsied once more, desperate to make sure he would not change his mind, which she knew he was more than likely to do.

"In exchange, you will move out of this obscene place and into the East Wing immediately. I expect you to also in future wear suitable clothing for a person of your station."

And before Belle could do so much as nod, the Prince turned away and vanished from sight.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The Prince threw himself down onto his bed and let out a sigh of defeat.

Staring up at the painted ceiling above, he tried to sort through his thoughts but all he could see was the girl in the emerald gown, staring at him through the dingy, narrow corridor he had just vacated moments before.

Damn it.

That had been the first and foremost problem. It had led him to so much distraction and prevented him from scolding her properly.

Or rather, from dismissing her permanently from his household.

Something he had never done in person, he might add. The dismissal of servants was always left to Cogsworth to deal with.

Turning in frustration towards the windows on his right, the Prince's thoughts wandered back towards the way Belle, he still found it strange to refer to her by her first name, had defended the staff, even though she clearly understood, as she had admitted to him earlier in the day, that they thought her to be a waste of space. He had assumed she'd been overjoyed about the prospect of moving out of the hellish kitchens and into a room of her own, but instead, reality revealed she had not only refused the offer, but she had also decided to stay in that cold den of a room, if one could even call it that.

The Prince shook his head and scowled in frustration.

He didn't understand her.

Then again, he often did not understand women, not that this had really bothered him in the past. In such circumstances, he had usually resorted to getting rid of them.

But with this strange anomaly…

The Prince frowned as he turned himself back towards the ceiling. His mind was taking him down a dangerous path, a path he'd rather avoid.

Belle, in truth, was becoming a bit of a problem. As much as she annoyed him to an nth degree, she was not conscious of it, at least the Prince did not think so. Either that or she was an exceptional actress, but he had a sneaking suspicion she was not a very good liar.

No, she had a pure heart.

Something rather rare really.

The Prince blinked, surprised at his own observations.

He had never valued innocence or naivety in the past. He saw them as signs of weakness and stupidity, especially when it came from women in his court. If they were ever in his presence, he expected them to understand the ways of the world and their place in society.

Of course, Belle was not a young debutante, lady or courtesan. She was a peasant from a nameless village; on paper, she was indistinguishable from any other housemaid currently residing in his castle. The young Duke couldn't expect her to act the same way as the women in court, but on the other hand, even the maids understood their place and he had never seen a single one of them speak out of turn.

Then again, he had never really had a full-on conversation with any of his lower staff before.

The Prince shook his head, sensing that his thoughts were now verging on the ridiculous.

The girl must be mad. That was the only plausible explanation for her erratic behaviour.

In the end, they'd both gotten what they'd wanted, even though he'd had to negotiate with her.

Negotiate with her!

How had he allowed that to happen?!

Staring incredulously up at the ceiling once more, the Prince lifted his hand nervously to his brow.

He was suddenly reminded of the way she had looked at him, her pleading eyes almost glistening against the glow of the candelabra she held in her hand. The very same almond-shaped eyes he had beheld with such wonder the first night they'd met.

Damn her.

Damn her and her seductive eyes. A favour? How dare he let her get away with such a thing!

Her request had been as strange as her decision to stay in the kitchen quarters.

Why was she so concerned about the boy? The way she spoke about him, about his wish to read…

The Prince's eyes widened as he was led towards a memory. No, he didn't want to go there. Not tonight.

He forced his thoughts back towards his own behaviour tonight. He had not reacted as he should have. True, upon hearing that there was a possibility the girl was not coming he did lose his patience, but even so, he shouldn't have flown off the handle. What he ought to have done was exert control over the situation by using his staff to call upon her, incompetent as they were.

After all, he had gone to the kitchens. The kitchens! No proper lord or marquis would be caught dead in such a filthy part of one's own estate.

His conduct had been completely inappropriate. He'd let his feelings get in the way.

The Prince's gaze hardened as he looked up at the painted angels staring down at him.

They almost looked like they were laughing derogatively.

At him.

Gritting his teeth, he glared up at them with such ferocity that he was sure if they were real, they would have hidden behind the cream coloured clouds they were currently sitting daintily on.

He was making a fool out of himself.

Sooner or later he would have to deal with this troublesome girl. He would lose interest in her soon enough or discard her, whichever way.

Pulling himself up, the Prince grunted with exertion as he turned to look outside.

It was nearly dark but he could just about make out the rose gardens, in particular the white roses, which seemed to reflect the luminous light which was streaming down from the moon hanging precariously in the clear night sky…

They reminded him of the nightgown she wore the night he first saw her. She looked almost ethereal, her dress glowing in the moonlight…

The Prince frowned once more, as he felt something slowly dawn on him. Then, just as quickly as it came, he felt the frustration he'd harboured all evening suddenly disappear.

The Prince turned away from the mysterious view which had presented itself to him and looked back up at the angels. Now they looked nearly coy.

Blinking in an almost dazed fashion, he slowly looked down towards the large portrait mirror hanging just above the mantelpiece. He saw a tired and dishevelled looking man staring back at him.

Hardly a surprise, after the day he'd had.

The Prince closed his eyes before breathing out deeply. He heard nothing and saw nothing.

Nothing but the truth.

Yes, he was attracted to the wretched creature. He couldn't deny that anymore, not after seeing her in that dress and the way she'd looked at him with such hopeful eyes. He should have left her to rot in the kitchens, but no, he couldn't help himself.

The Prince had never felt so out of control in all his life. Although he did not admit it consciously to himself, he did in fact fear the increasing effect the strange young woman was having on him….

Still, having her around made things interesting. At least he could sleep knowing she was in a warm bed in the East Wing.

Letting out an unmistakable yawn, the Prince blinked bleary eyed before falling back into his bed, letting his head rest against the many pillows that had been laid out for him. Before he could so much as blink again, he fell into a deep sleep, Belle's figure in the hallway the last thing he consciously saw…

….

Nobody knew why it had started, only that it began in the dead of night.

By the time it spread to the east corridor, some of the staff had realized what was going on and began to alert the others. By the time Cogsworth had been informed, it had travelled so far undetected that he knew, just from one quick glance, that there were going to be serious damages and consequences.

As for the Prince, he had been awoken by a fairly perturbed Lumiere, who, shining a bright candelabra in the young Duke's face, hoarsely reported to him the current situation and the calamity they found themselves in.

"What? How is that possible?" replied the Prince scathingly, looking up at Lumiere as if he wished the man would simply disappear from his sight. "Are you sure it isn't just another one of the staff playing a prank?"

"I wish it were so Your Highness," replied Lumiere, polite but nonetheless impatient, "but I'm afraid it is very real and very dangerous. For your own safety, I must insist that you evacuate the castle immediately."

"Very well," replied the Prince begrudgingly, still half asleep as he grabbed his navy silk robe and wrapped it quickly around himself as he got up. "This better not be a trick Lumiere… Where are the staff?"

"The women have mostly evacuated, but the men are trying to do something about it," replied Lumiere, rushing towards the double doors in order to open them up.

"Very good," replied the Prince gruffly, still not quite believing Lumiere. He was not accustomed to being woken up in the middle of the night, and if this turned out to be some form of trickery, he was not going to be very amused, and whoever was responsible would be, quite rightly, punished.

"Please, hurry sir!" exclaimed Lumiere hastily as he gestured the young Prince towards the double doors.

The West corridor was surprisingly quiet as the pair made their way out of the West Wing, down the West staircase and through the portrait gallery towards the grand entrance. As they neared it, the Prince heard more and more strained voices, just as his head was beginning to clear. By the time they reached the grand staircase, the Prince was fully awake, and convinced that something was, indeed, very wrong. He had not caught everything Lumiere had said to him, but he knew things were not as they should be.

Most of the maids were outside, either standing or sitting around the entrance. The tall double doors were fully open with many of his staff walking up and down the grand staircase in rapid succession, carrying large buckets in both hands.

Yet with all that was happening around them, Lumiere still continued to push the Prince on. Since he was still taken aback by the scene in front of him, the Prince allowed Lumiere to guide him outside. In any other situation, he would not have permitted this, but the young Duke found himself in a very strange position.

"Please do not be overly concerned my lord," stated Lumiere as they reached outside, where the cold night air hit the Prince's face, forcing him to wrap his robe tighter around himself. "The staff are doing everything they can to put an end to it."

The Prince mostly did not hear Lumiere's words however, because his attention was focused towards the right side of the castle, the East Wing.

His expression of discomfort immediately fell, and felt his feet come to a stand-still.

To put it simply, the castle was ablaze.

At the very end, where the East turret was, he could see the flames bursting out of the windows, orange and yellow fire raging on inside as the glass outside began to break and splinter. He knew, just from one quick glance, that the outer corridor of the East Wing could not be saved, no matter how quickly the staff managed to stop the growing inferno.

His castle, his family's ancestral home as it had been ever since its first conception, was literally being destroyed before his very eyes.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

"How," he felt himself mutter as he stood frozen on the spot, unable to move his gaze away from the disaster.

"I don't know the details sir, but the staff say they noticed it first down the third hallway in the East Wing," replied Lumiere softly, his voice quiet but present enough so the Prince could hear him above the sounds of sobbing and crying.

"Do we know who is responsible?" asked the Prince, his voice hollow and empty. He did not turn to look at Lumiere, his gaze still fixed on the disaster before him.

"No, sir, not at this time," was all the reply Lumiere could muster. He had grown accustomed to the Prince's rage, but he sensed that it was different this time.

"But everyone from that area has been evacuated, is that right?"

"Yes sir," replied Lumiere, surprised to hear the Prince's voice sounding rather calm and steady, despite the fact that he looked, for all intents and purposes, utterly shell-shocked. "The Marquis was a guest in the East Wing, but he has been safely evacuated."

The Prince's eyes widened in alarm as he looked towards Lumiere, who in turn seemed perplexed at the Prince's sudden change in demeanor.

"What about Belle?" asked the Prince hoarsely as he came closer towards Lumiere, his eyes narrowing but still intense. "Have you accounted for her as well?"

"As far as I am aware, all the staff who were in the East Wing have been brought down here sir-"

"Don't beat around the bush," snarled the Prince as he gripped hold of Lumiere's shoulders, his fingers like steel. "Have you seen her or not?"

"No, no, I personally have not sir," quivered Lumiere, shaking his head quickly. "Barely fifteen minutes have passed sir since I was alerted, and my first priority was to make sure you were safe-"

Lumiere did not have time to finish his words however, as the Prince had already let him go and stalked off into the castle towards Cogsworth, who was standing by the grand staircase, ordering the staff about in different directions.

"Where is she?" yelled the Prince as he approached the Head of Household, raising his voice above the noise and commotion going on around him.

Cogsworth flinched before swivelling around to see the Prince towering over him, his piercing blue eyes glistening fiercely in the relative darkness.

"Your- Your Highness, thank goodness you are safe-"

"Where is Belle?" growled the Prince impatiently as the servants continued to rush past him, echoing the rapid drumming he heard in his ears.

"What?"

"Where is Belle?" thundered the Prince as the poor old man flinched for the second time.

"I had asked all the staff in the East Wing to be escorted down here, but I have not had the time to check or account for-"

"So she might still be up there?" interrupted the Prince, feeling something rise within him.

"I highly doubt it sir but-"

The Prince did not waste any more time. Without waiting to hear the end of Cogsworth's sentence, the Prince ran up the steps of the grand staircase two at a time, ignoring the protests of Lumiere and Cogsworth coming from down below.

Why the East Wing….

Of all places, why the East Wing…

It was ironic really, thought the Prince as he made his way up the stairs, his heart racing. Mere hours ago, he had felt content in knowing she was in the East Wing, and now he only prayed she wasn't there and had remained her same stubborn self, staying down in the dingy kitchens.

Was somebody up there trying to tell him something, was that it?

Gripping hold of the bannister beside him, the Prince tried to push those thoughts aside as he made his way through the double doors which led to the first corridor of the East Wing. Passing the library, he began to sprint towards the second set of doors. As he did so, a young man passed by him, carrying an empty tin bucket.

"Your Highness!" he exclaimed, wiping the sweat off his face.

The Prince would have avoided him and carried on but the boy began to speak.

"I wouldn't go down there, sir, it's filled with smoke! The fire has taken hold of most of the third corridor!"

The Prince slowed his pace as he turned around to look at the boy.

"The third corridor," muttered the Prince, and after a moment, his felt his heart begin to quicken once more. "Isn't that where some of the guest and servant quarters are?"

"Yes sir, that's right," replied the boy, a little perplexed at the Prince's question but beyond thinking much of it, given the circumstances. "Before the fire took over, every room was checked but nobody was there. They think the blaze started in the furthest room down the corridor. I don't know much beyond that sir."

The Prince began to feel uncomfortable, almost claustrophobic, unsure over what to do with himself.

He felt powerless.

Weak.

Useless.

Looking up, he found the boy still standing there, looking at him hesitantly with concern in his eyes.

"Were you one of those who checked those rooms boy?"

"Yes, sir, I was," replied the young man, nodding his head eagerly in response.

"Did you see Belle, the new librarian?"

"The librarian?" repeated the young man quizzically. After a moment, however, he seemed to recognize the name and replied, "Oh Belle, as in the new girl who's very pretty? I didn't see her here sir, but not to worry, I would have known if I did."

The boy was smiling too widely for the Prince's tastes, but now was hardly the time to dwell on such things.

"Very well, continue on with whatever it was you were doing," replied the Prince gruffly, paying the boy no more attention as he stopped to think by the windowsill.

He had looked around the grand staircase as he had approached to speak with Cogsworth, and he had searched through the countless maids sitting by the steps to the castle, but he had not seen Belle.

The boy was right, she wasn't someone who could easily merge into the background. If she had been in any those places, someone would have noticed, especially after what had happened earlier in the evening.

So where else could she be?

Wracking his brains, the Prince thought through the day's events as he stared out the window. He could smell the burning and it was starting to make him feel nauseous….

 _I want to help him, he is eager to learn, and it seems such a waste to restrain him from books he wishes to read._

The Prince froze.

No, she couldn't have. She knew not to go there, aside from working hours.

It was forbidden.

The Prince nearly smiled and he probably would have, if not for the fact that he currently found himself in a very dire situation.

Belle had a knack for wandering off and roaming about places she wasn't allowed to.

Especially at night.

Swerving his head back towards the entrance of the library, the Prince felt something surge within him, but he knew it not to be rage because it made him feel light, almost weightless.

He did not recognize it, but it was hope.

Running towards the double doors, the Prince swung them open before making his way inside.

It was pitch black, very hard to see, and the Prince immediately feared that Belle was not here, just as he had secretly feared.

As he felt his stomach drop however, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he began to recognize the moonlight streaming down into the library via the glass windows above the balcony.

As his gaze swept the library, they came to reside at the very end of the room, where the fireplace was. Though he had to squint to really see, he could just about make out a figure, slumped over the gigantic writing desk.

The Prince felt his feet move almost instinctually as he made his way towards the figure, praying, hoping, that it was who he thought it was.

Approaching the desk, he felt himself let out a sigh of relief as he looked down at the girl, lying on top of a book, a burnt-out candelabra left at her side.

"Thank god," he exclaimed as his shoulders sank in gratification.

Just as quickly as relief came however, he heard the staff outside in the hallway shouting and running about as the tumultuous fire continued to burn in the background.

The Prince looked back towards Belle, who was still sleeping soundly, her mouth ever so slightly open as her chest continued to move up and down, her head resting on a copy of Romeo and Juliet.

Turning his mouth into a thin line, the Prince deliberated quickly. They didn't have much time, and they certainly could not stay here.

Making his way around the huge writing desk, the Prince bended down and deftly picked up the young woman from the chair she was sitting on, slowly moving her back so that she rested her head against his shoulder .

She stirred, letting out a little murmur as she tilted her head slightly towards him, but she was still too asleep to be aware of what was happening around her.

The Prince was surprised at how light she was. Her arms and legs were on the thin side, and he found no trouble in carrying her swiftly down the library and out the double doors into the corridor.

She needs feeding up, thought the Prince darkly to himself as he looked up and peered into the darkness.

The scene was a little different to when he had first arrived. The smoke was beginning to build and there were more men than before running up and down, shouting orders across the threshold. There was too much smoke for them to recognize the Prince carrying Belle, and besides, they were too busy trying to put out the fire among other things. The young Duke was privately thankful for this.

Looking down at Belle, he saw the discomfort she was beginning to feel from all the noise and smoke surrounding her, a stark contrast to the peace and calm of the library they had just left. Furrowing her eyebrows, she turned her head even more towards him, as if to try and avoid the smoke she was started to breathe in.

He had to get her out of here and quickly.

Shoving past a servant sprinting past him on his right, the Prince hastened as he made his way back the way he came, through the double doors and the west staircase, careful not to let anything or anyone hit Belle as he made his way swiftly down the steps.

You might think he would have let his emotions get the better of him, but the minute he recognized her he had thought of only one thing and one thing only; he had to get away from the fire as quickly as possible. As he travelled down the castle and out into the grand entrance, that was all that occupied his mind and so he carried out his task without giving a single glance to anybody. He might as well have been deaf to the commotion surrounding them as he and Belle finally reached the outside of the castle, past the maids and servants standing about the steps to the grand entrance.

The cold night air once more hit his frame, just as it did Belle, and this time, she didn't just stir in her sleep. Opening her eyes, she reacted to the blistering wind by flinching, obviously unaware of where she was, or rather, why she was not in the library or her bed.

"Where- where am I?" she asked groggily as she shifted, looking to and fro blindly as her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness.

Surprisingly, the Prince made no comment. He merely stood still, looking down at the woman in his arms silently, waiting for her to get her bearings and realize where she was. He felt strangely satisfied in finding her so defenceless, in some ways vulnerable, but he didn't really want to take advantage of this just yet.

He was too angry for that.

Having got her out of the disaster raging on behind them, the fury he had been holding back since discovering her absence was beginning to spill and he could feel his hands starting to shake.

It took a moment, but soon the creature looked up, finally realizing where she was.

Or rather, in whose arms she found herself in.

"You-Your Highness," Belle stuttered, and the Prince was pleased to see that she, at the very least, appeared surprised and perhaps even a little fearful.

"Yes, that's right," was all his really managed to say before he felt the young woman start to wiggle and resist, eager to get away from his as quickly as possible.

The Prince offered no resistance, immediately setting her down as he started to grit his teeth again, aware that she was slowly stepping away from him as she turned her wide-eyed gaze away from him and up towards the East Wing, which was still burning ferociously.

"Oh my god," he heard her breathe as she lifted her hands to her gaping mouth in shock, but his eyes remained fixed on her, and the burning inferno behind him felt almost an after-thought. It was nothing compared to the rage he felt surging within himself.

"Yes, indeed," was all he heard himself reply as he waited for her to put two and two together. It was rare to find her in a such a state of ignorance and he was finding it to be a both a mixture of pleasure and frustration.

"But why?" replied Belle faintly, as she moved her confused gaze down towards him. She looked utterly lost and desolate, and for a moment the young Duke almost felt a little guilty about leaving her in the dark for so long.

"Did," she murmured after a moment when it became clear he wasn't going to respond, "did you…. Did you bring me down here?"

She spoke quite slowly, so much so that the Prince could see the cogs beginning to move in her mind. Perhaps it was due to her sluggish state, but he was nearly caught off guard by how blankly she looked at him, without the certain apprehension or cautiousness he usually detected coming from her.

Still, he was too mad to really be swayed, even with such a pure expression of innocence displayed on her face.

"Yes," he replied curtly, moving his hands into a tight grip as he tried to control his response. "That would be correct. I brought you down here after finding you in the library."

"In the," breathed Belle, repeating the Prince's words as her expression turned to that of confusion, matching her currently state of dishevelment, with her hair nearly completely loose and tangled. "The library…"

When she looked up at the Prince with sudden realization, he was more than ready for her, and so while she stared at him with trepidation, aware that she had broken the household rules yet again, he stared at her with such madness in his eyes that he could see the striking effect it had on her instantly.

She seemed to almost shrink away from him, taking one step, and then another step away from him.

"I'm sorry Your Highness," was all she seemed to manage, and the Prince was glad that he had finally caught her in a moment where she was at a complete loss for words.

"There is a fire raging on in the East Wing of my castle as we speak," replied the young Duke calmly as he took one step towards her. He noticed the staff around them quietening down, but he paid them no heed. "And I found you asleep in my private library two corridors down from it, with your face pressed against a copy of Romeo and Juliet."

"I'm sorry Your Highness," began Belle again, this time looking truly mortified, "I shouldn't have been there, I know it's against the rules-"

"I don't care about the rules!" bellowed the Prince, immediately silencing Belle as his eyes reflected the blaze of the fire behind him. Before she could form a coherent reply, he came striding towards her and proceeded to grip hold of her strongly by the shoulders. "What on earth were you thinking?! You could have been killed, you silly woman!"

His roar echoed across the threshold to such an effect that the whole courtyard suddenly grew silent. The only sound which continued to persist was the raging fire, which crackled and spit into the cold night air as the wind began to howl almost mournfully in response.

Belle stared wordlessly up at the Prince, completely shocked into silence. She seemed just as taken aback as the staff surrounding her.

It had been the bow. It must have been.

Seeing her bow towards him and apologize yet again for trespassing had been the last straw. He had placed her there. He had ordered her to go to the East Wing that very night. Even just thinking about what could have happened made him feel sick. How could she talk of such things as rules when… When she nearly…

Staring into her dark eyes, which seemed almost blank, the Prince felt his anger slowly begin to subside as he became aware of the fact that he still had strong grip over her shoulders, which were shaking and trembling. In reaction to the cold or to him he could not be sure.

Letting go of her gently, he looked apprehensively at her pale face as she shifted her gaze nervously away from him and back towards the fire above them, which continued to burn mercilessly.

"The library," he heard her whisper as she reached for something in her skirts.

Narrowing his eyes, the Prince looked wordlessly down as her long thin fingers as she took out a book from her right-side pocket.

Turning it around in her hands, the golden-lettering on the front cover reflected against the light of the fire above, revealed it to be a copy of A Thousand and One Nights.

The Prince's eyes widened as he stared at it. He knew that book.

All too well.

Belle's hands began to grip hold of it, as if it were last one in existence, and even though it did not belong to her, she instantly drew it close to her chest and squeezed it tightly against herself as she looked up at the fire in apprehension.

"How close was the fire to the library when you found me?" she asked faintly as the Prince continued to stare at the book in her hands.

"Not too close, but it will spread eventually," he replied quietly, the rage he'd felt before now entirely forgotten, only to be replaced by a sense of unease, the result of a distant memory suddenly emerging again, reminding him of why he felt such alarm the minute he saw that boy in the library….

Too lost in his own thoughts, he did not notice Belle looking at him once more with apprehension in her eyes, as if wishing there were some way they could say at least save the library.

"Is there nothing we can do?" whispered Belle faintly, causing the Prince to snap out of his thoughts, just as Lumiere came towards them.

The young Duke stared at Belle for a moment, and among the chaos that surrounded them, his gaze stood stoic and indomitable. It was a silent exchange, during which he told her wordlessly through his eyes that he was going to do all he could to stop the growing inferno before it was too late. Once the moment passed, he turned silently away from her, and ignored the protests coming from Lumiere as he made his way back into the castle.

He'd sensed her horror, and seeing her grip that book so tightly reminded him that he could do something, even if it turned out to be all in vain. He wasn't going to just sit around and sulk as his ancestral home burned away behind him.

Striding towards the grand staircase, he picked out Cogsworth from the crowd, still standing by the foot of the stairs.

"Your Highness!" exclaimed Cogsworth, rushing towards the Prince. "Thank goodness you are safe, I saw you come down the stairs with mademoiselle Belle and-"

"Never mind about that," snapped the Prince dismissively as he glared at Cogsworth. "We need more men. I want you to send for reinforcements from the nearby villages. Send as many messengers as possible. And as much as I appreciate your concerns for safety, if any women wish to help then for god's sake let them. This is my inheritance you fool, and I will not allow it to be burned to the ground. Do you understand me?"

Cogsworth nodded, his mouth gaping open. The Prince paid no attention to Cogsworth's shocked expression however, and his nod was all the confirmation that he needed.

Shoving past his Head of Staff, the young Duke felt fortitude begin to spread across his body as he made his way up the staircase once more, his mind somehow clear and sharp over what he needed to do. His staff needed someone to help subdue the fire before it spread across the whole of the East Wing and he was damn well sure going to be part of it.

As he neared the East Wing, he couldn't keep the painful memory at bay any longer, and as he heard the fire growing louder and louder, he was reminded of his father's voice as he caught him in the library one afternoon many years ago….

" _What are you doing?"_

" _I only wanted to read this book sir."_

" _You are only permitted to read the books I want you to read. You should not be spending your time reading such nonsense. Fairytales and poetry are of no use to you, they will only fill your head with sawdust."_

" _But-"_

" _You heard what I said. If you continue to do this I will no longer allow you into this library."_

" _But father! One thousand and one nights was what mother used to-"_

" _Don't you dare use your mother against me! She should have known better. Too soft on you, I always told her that. Now follow me, I will not stand for this kind of behaviour. You will be punished appropriately."_

" _Father, no, I promise I wouldn't do it again-"_

" _You will do as you are told, or I shall cease to call you my son!"_

Gripping hold of the bannister tightly, the Prince stopped moving for a second as the memory neared the part he always avoided.

His father always liked giving him a good slashing. He still remembered the pain, and crying that had always inevitably followed.

He had at least that in common with the peasants in the villages, he thought cynically to himself as he moved again and finally reached the East Wing landing.

As he opened the corridors and past the library once more, he reminded himself that he wasn't doing this for Belle. He would never openly express it, but he loved that library as much as she did, and he knew of it's significance. He didn't care if all the portraits of his ancestors burned, but those books meant more to him than he would ever let anyone know.

Besides, the castle was his livelihood. If he lost it now, he would lose everything.

And so, without any further thought, the Prince strode through the second and third pair of doors and finally reached the heart of the chaos, ready to fight for his livelihood, the ruthless flames burning furiously as he stood unwavering front of it with nothing to lose.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's note: Thank you so much for all your support after the last chapter! It was a big one and I'm glad it went over so well. ;P I hope I don't discourage you from continuing the story, but let's just say you might find yourself more frustrated than ever by the end of this chapter. Sorry! Treat this as a montage in a movie, going from one season to the next (hint, major time skip). The aftermath of the fire is going to be huge and this will take the plot into the next section of the story. I hope you all enjoy it! Don't forget to like, follow, favourite and review as always! :D Happy reading everyone!

Chapter 14

The fire raged on for what fell like an age. Spreading quickly down the East Wing, the turrets above stood precariously above the inferno, as if waiting for the calamity to reach them, already resigned to the inevitability of their own destruction.

In the dark hours that followed the Prince's surprising appearance, the castle staff struggled to control the wild flames mercilessly licking at their feet.

Cogsworth kept his word however, and after a few hours of barely managing to subdue the fire, reinforcements from the neighbouring villages finally arrived. Some of the villagers brought noticeably fewer men than Cogsworth had expected, but he could not blame them given the hardships they'd had to endure as a result of the Prince's brutal taxing. The Heads of Staff hoped his lordship would not notice this, but given the chaos that continuously surrounded him, they highly doubted he would.

Yet both the villagers and the servants turned out to be tremendously glad that the Prince had decided to help them. Not only did he prove to be useful, but also necessary, something they did not realize until afterwards. His command of both his servants and the villagers was commendable, and he succeeded in wasting as little time as possible by directing them through short-cuts in the castle, many of which even the staff themselves were unaware of. He helped to extinguish the flames himself by taking down countless rugs and tapestries, many of which were bound to cost a fortune. He did not, however, seem to hesitate at all in doing this, and the staff watched in amazement as he brusquely threw them down onto the flames.

The men remained there all night, until the very last flame was put asunder, but the full extent of the destruction only revealed itself as the sun slowly began to rise. Disappointingly it was as extensive as most had feared. Although they had stopped the fire from spreading, it had succeeded in destroying most of the quarters in the East Wing.

All that was left was mostly char and dust.

The only saving grace was that the floors had remained relatively intact, largely due to the study stone they were made out of. This had thankfully prevented the fire from spreading to the lower floors. Only the quarters by the east staircase and the library had remained unscathed.

Even so, once things had calmed down and the villagers had been sent back to their homes, Cogsworth analysed the extent of damage the fire had caused with trepidation. He could already foresee the future; it wasn't going to be easy to restore the wing.

For the next couple of weeks, the castle staff tried to go about their business as calmly as possible, cleaning up and salvaging as many belongings as they could from the East Wing. Despite the amount of work they had to get through, one could feel the sense of unease among the staff; fear over what was to come. The one question however that they all mutely wanted an answer for was this: what had happened to the Prince?

As for the man in question, he had quickly retreated back to the West Wing once the horrific night was over without uttering a single word to anyone, and ever since that morning, nobody had seen nor heard from him. Food had been placed by his door day and night, but every time a servant went to retrieve it, the tray remained mostly untouched.

A week and a half after the disastrous event, Cogsworth called upon both Lumiere and Mrs Potts, and instructed them to meet him in his office. He needed their help in trying to come up with a way to speak to the Duke about the castle.

In short, he had bad news.

"What do you think Cogsworth? How long is it going to take? How much have we lost?" asked Mrs Potts as she let out a fatigued sigh.

"It is not looking good," muttered Cogsworth as he shook his head and looked nervously down at the figures before him on the desk. "I have thought about it over and over, but there is no getting around it. We simply don't have the money to repair the East Wing."

"What?" stuttered Lumiere, leaning forward in his chair. His usual grace and lightness of charm had been noticeably absent ever since the fire. Plumette had not been hurt, but her quarters were relatively close to where the fire had been. As such, Lumiere had spent many a sleepless night patrolling the area, confiscating every candelabra in sight. Which was a shame, since it had always been his favourite household object.

"Surely, we have some money from all the taxation put on the villages," retorted Mrs Potts, as a frown creased her brow.

"You don't understand, either of you!" exclaimed Cogsworth impatiently, not even bothering to lift his gaze as he nervously smoothed his moustache. "The fact of the matter is, we are in debt and cannot cover the costs that such a repair will require! The point of the taxation was for the Prince to be free of debt by the time he became the next Duke, but his father died a lot sooner than I had anticipated. We were barely able to keep a full house of staff as it was and then I discovered the master's father had left a whole string of debts himself, having absolutely no concern about his son or his future! I didn't want to tax the villages but it was the only choice I had! You know the Prince's character, his sense of pride and ego. How could I tell him the reality of the situation, that he was about to inherit a dukedom which was absolutely worthless! And now this?!"

Cogsworth's voice had risen to such heights he quickly ran out breath. Sinking back into his chair, the old man shook his head in disbelief. The other two occupants of the room sat still, stunned. They had never seen the Head of the Household act like this before, as if he were not just worried but actually genuinely upset.

"So, what you are saying is," said Mrs Potts after a moment, in a rather hesitant fashion.

"We are in trouble," answered Cogsworth, his voice slow and fatigued. "Big trouble."

Lumiere looked towards Mrs Potts with concern, who kept her gaze firmly on Cogsworth.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, keeping her voice controlled.

"What I must," said Cogsworth with defeat. "I have to keep this estate running somehow, but it can't be like the way it was before. Maybe twenty, thirty years ago we could get away with this sort of thing, but now… They take debts very seriously, no matter who you are or what title you hold. I'm afraid we don't have much choice."

"So, you're going to let the some of the staff go," said Lumiere hesitantly, not even knowing himself whether he was asking a question or giving a statement.

Cogsworth nodded his head stiffly in response, his eyes trained on the desk.

"And the Prince? You must tell him, right?" continued Lumiere, his voice uncertain.

"I don't think I can do it alone," replied Cogsworth shakily, finally looking up at them, his eyes forlorn and desperate. "He's in bad shape as it is. I didn't expect him to go up there. I didn't think him to care so much about the place. I always suspected that he despised it."

Mrs Potts looked at Cogsworth straight in the eye, recognising the Head of Staff felt very much out of his depth. God knows what state the Prince was in. None of them had seen nor properly spoken to him since that night.

"We'll do it together," she said firmly.

And so, they did.

Mrs Potts was well aware the Prince had remained in the West Wing ever since the fire, but she did not know why. Some of the staff had whispered to her about seeing Belle, the scullery maid turned librarian, being rescued by the Prince. Some even spoke of a confrontation.

The Heads of Staff had not been there to witness what had happened, but given the fact that the Prince's fixation with the young woman was very much known about the castle, hearing of his conduct was hardly surprising.

His current behaviour however, was troubling.

Mrs Potts and Lumiere trailed behind Cogsworth as they made their way up to the West Wing. Once inside however, Lumiere had stayed by the door. Later, when he spoke about the whole ordeal to Plumette, he explained to her how dark the wing had been, so much so that it had been impossible to tell whether it was day or night.

"And the Prince?" asked Plumette eagerly as she and Lumiere sat down outside in the rose garden one afternoon, safely secluded from any prying ears. She leaned against Lumiere's shoulder as he spoke, his warm voice vibrating in a reassuring way.

"It was so dark that it was hard to tell," started Lumiere as he took Plumette's slim fingers and gently massaged them in his hands. "He was lying on the divan, completely dishevelled. I didn't recognize him at first because he'd grown a slight beard. He looked haggard, as if he hadn't slept in days."

"So, he is as depressed and lonesome as everyone says he is," replied Plumette, her voice a tad solemn. "But keep going Lumiere, I want to hear everything!"

Lumiere glanced at Plumette with amusement and flashed her a coy smile.

"Very well darling, but only if you kiss me afterwards," he murmured as he lightly touched her nose with his index finger.

"Oh, Lumiere, you're always trying to blackmail me," murmured Plumette as she gave him a glittering smile and snuggled up close to him. "But you can't distract me, you know that the only thing I love as much as you is gossip."

Lumiere let out a sigh of defeat and staring up at the sky in disbelief before continuing good-naturedly.

"His voice was scratchy, like he hadn't spoken in days. He was angry, just as Cogsworth had predicted, but he was also rather resigned. I think he already knew how much debt there was, so he didn't seem too surprised when our dear friend Cogsworth told him he couldn't afford to repair the East Wing."

"So, it's true!" exclaimed Plumette as her eyes widened and she placed her hand against Lumiere's chest. "And how long is it going to take until he can afford the reconstruction?"

"Three years," replied Lumiere unflinchingly, a sad smile on his face as Plumette gasped in response.

"That's an awfully long time Lumiere," whispered Plumette. "The master couldn't have been happy to hear that!"

"No, he wasn't happy," replied Lumiere with a shake of his head. "The taxing on the villages wasn't enough. I'm afraid Cogsworth is running out of choices. You will hear soon enough of staff being let go."

"What?" said Plumette hoarsely as she leapt off the bench they had been sitting on and whipped around to face Lumiere.

"Mon Cherie, you knew it was coming. It was inevitable that some of the staff would to leave!"

Plumette narrowed her eyes as she stared down at Lumiere, who was looking up at her helplessly, his arms outstretched as he invited her into his embrace.

"I don't agree. There must be some other way. It is not our fault that the fire started," retorted Plumette, placing her hands on her hips.

"Don't speak so loud my darling," said Lumiere hoarsely as he got up and glanced uneasily about the rose garden. "You don't know who's listening."

Plumette's eyes widened as she took Lumiere's words.

"You don't think one of _us_ is behind what happened, do you?"

"I don't know what I think," replied Lumiere calmly as he placed his hands on Plumette's shoulders and rubbed them reassuringly. "It's still a mystery. Who knows who was behind it, it could have been a simple accident."

Plumette lifted her eyebrows and stared at Lumiere sarcastically.

"Dearest, as much as I approve of your optimism, I do not believe for one minute that it was an accident. I only wish that my staff didn't have to suffer as a result."

"Oh, darling," sighed Lumiere, understanding Plumette's discomfort, "they will be okay. Cogsworth will make sure they'll be in safe hands should the worst happen."

Cogsworth stayed true to the Prince's commands and listened to Lumiere's concerns. Over the course of several weeks, he gradually let go over half of the staff, giving them all glowing references to help them along their way. Most of them had been grateful for this and understood the circumstances. Some had even been anticipating it and let out adverts for future employment elsewhere. The majority whom Cogsworth had had to let go were those who were not absolutely necessary. Certain members now took over more than one role within the household, which meant that the staff were now constantly on their toes, straining to get all the work done.

As the weeks passed, the remaining staff started to border up the wing as best they could, mainly to keep the cold night air out. It made the castle look like a ruin on one side of it but they had no other choice. After a month, most assumed that the rumours had been true, and that the estate simply couldn't afford to fix the East Wing and therefore would remain the way it was for the foreseeable future.

The castle however was not the only place where rumours began to spread.

Society, as one would expect, soon knew all about the fire and the lack of action taken to repair the castle. During the first couple of months most had assumed it to be only a small fire of little consequence, but as rumours began to circulate of the Prince's hermit-like existence, lords and ladies became more and more discerning.

The Prince, for his part, was very quickly informed of this, and, at the urging of Cogsworth, travelled back to Paris in order to repair his reputation. By the time he arrived however, it was too late. News of his late father's debts had been circulating about the capital for some time, but now it became apparent that he himself was in debt, with a half burnt down castle which he could not afford to restore.

Many speculated that he had come to Paris in search of a wealthy bride in order to restore his family name which now found itself sinking further and further into the sand of insignificance.

As a notorious rake, he had been seen as immoral but desirable, given his social rank and wealth. Society, however, was brutal. All it took was one misstep, and everyone would soon be turning against you.

The Prince did not speak to the Heads of Staff about what had happened in Paris, but as he returned to the castle, looking more dishevelled than ever, it was clear to everyone that he had been drinking excessively, to the point where he seemed hardly to know where he was. It was clear, however, that he was doing this to rid himself of the bad experience he had had in Paris.

Lumiere and Cogsworth could only imagine, but they both had a pretty good idea of what it must have looked like. Coming into a room, a ballroom perhaps, where ladies once fawned over you and fought amongst themselves to have even just one dance with you, only now to be faced with the same people in the same room staring and pointing at you, whispering behind their fans and spitting poisonous words, turning away when you offer your hand…

"They're all vultures," muttered Lumiere as he and Cogsworth watched on from inside the castle as the Prince stepped out of his carriage and slumped up the stairs into the grand entrance, clearly not walking straight. "We should have anticipated this."

"Still, by the looks of things, even he was expecting a warmer welcome," replied Cogsworth uneasily.

"The best we can hope for now is that they soon forget about it. This will settle down eventually."

Lumiere's voice was solid and certain, but Cogsworth was not as optimistic. In his view, the only thing that could save the Prince was marriage to a wealthy noblewoman. Cogsworth knew, however, that marriage was far from the Prince's mind, and he would need to recover first before Cogsworth could initiate such talk. The lady didn't need to be a countess, the Prince's title would be enough for both of them, just as long as she had wealth…

If such a successful match were made, Cogsworth would be able to rest easy, knowing that he had fulfilled the late Duke's promise, keeping the heirloom afloat and stopping it from disappearing into insignificance.

Due to Cogsworth's efforts to rid the estate of debt, no more parties or grand gatherings took place at the Prince's castle. The overall atmosphere of the place took on a much more muted and solemn feel.

And before they all knew it, it was autumn.

Much to Cogsworth's discomfort, the rumours concerning the Prince only got worse. Lumiere had received word that the society in Paris now called him 'The Phantom Prince' because no one ever saw him.

…

It was late afternoon. The sun was slowly receding and the gardens smelt of fresh cut grass and flowers in late bloom. It had been raining earlier in the day, so the pungent perfume had now travelled across the grounds.

Belle stood in the herb garden, picking away at stray weeds which had made their way into the soil. Ever since the decrease in staff, Belle had had to take over several jobs previously held by those who had now long gone. This included taking care of the gardens.

Belle enjoyed working out of doors as she used to tend to the humble vegetable patch she and her father had in front of their cottage in Villeneuve. It provided a good balance to the work she did in the library.

Belle squinted as she looked up at the sun before closing her eyes and allowing her face to bask in the sun's waning heat. The gardens were quiet, and only the sound of finches and swifts could be heard. Belle breathed in the twilight air and let out a sigh of contentment.

When it was first announced that some of the staff were going to be let off, Belle had been prepared. After that disastrous night, she had been awaiting her dismissal. Surely there was no escape now and unlike the time before, Belle felt the Prince's anger was completely justifiable. Not only that, but she also felt immense guilt at her own stupidity and also for what he did for her.

The Prince had saved her life, something not to be taken lightly. Aside from their confrontation, she was given no information about why the Prince had happened to be in the library, only that he had heard of her absence and had searched the East Wing himself. She could only feel grateful for the fact that he had remembered their earlier squabble in the library and had therefore gone there.

The least she could do now was to quit the place entirely and leave him in peace. Yet as the days turned into weeks and more and more staff were being sent away, Belle remained in the library alone, working away as she sorted through the books in solitary silence, with no knock coming to her door.

As expected, rumours began to circulate about her and the staff began to suggest that she only still remained at the castle because the Prince had an obvious interest in her. Some even had the gall to say that she provided more service than just sifting through books in the library.

This aggravated Belle to no end but she had been expecting it. She could only feel grateful, if not more than slightly surprised, that she had not been immediately sent away. Of all the posts in the household, she had assumed that the librarian was the least likely to be of any use. Yet as summer turned to autumn, it became apparent that she was to remain.

Belle had also been waiting out for another confrontation from the Prince. Ever since she had arrived at the castle, she had continuously endured conflict with him, and she had assumed this was to continue. He had told her that she still owed him an evening in his presence, and after the night of the fire, she had assumed he would come to confront her about trespassing yet again upon his property.

Once again however, Belle found the Prince's actions to be highly unpredictable.

Not only had she not seen him, but none of the staff whom she had spoken to had seen him either. There were no more balls, no more guests coming to stay, and while many had proposed that he might have actually quit the castle, the Heads of Staff assured the maids and butlers time and time again that the Prince was very much still present in the castle, and that he would remain so for the foreseeable future.

Yet not a single one of the staff ever saw him.

Sometimes, when passing by the West Wing, they would hear someone grumbling, and they would see an empty tray by the door, so that was proof enough. Sometimes when walking through the grounds, a maid might hear the sound of hooves galloping, but she would never see a figure. Sometimes, the staff were sure they heard someone's footsteps above, far too heavy and slow to be that of a servant.

This was as far however as the Prince's presence was felt by the staff.

The contrast between the current 'Phantom Prince', as those in the kitchens called him, and the Prince Belle had first seen when coming to the castle was so jarring that it was hard to think of two as the same person. For her part, she had not even seen his shadow, so she had no idea what sort of turmoil he was under, but she was sure that the estate was struggling financially, given the gaping hole which still remained by the East Wing, a constant reminder of that dreadful night.

Looking up from the weeds she'd just pulled, Belle wiped her sweaty brow as she looked at the wing. The windows had been bordered up and the staff had done their best to hide the calamity, but one could still see the char and black soot stained on the stone walls and the darkness within. It was quite an unsettling sight to behold.

"Yes, it is quite something, isn't it?"

Belle swerved her head around as she heard the voice coming from behind her, and found two cloudy eyes staring down at her with benign interest.

"You," breathed Belle as she stood up and swept the dirt off her skirt. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"Yes, well, I thought I'd stop by and see if I could catch a glimpse of the, err, what do they call him now? Ah yes, the 'Phantom Prince'."

The beggar woman smiled at Belles' stunned expression and leaned on her stick, just as she lifted her ragged hood down. She looked exactly the same as the last time Belle had seen her; still wearing the mismatched rags of clothing and still looking as mysterious as ever.

"I see," was all the reply Belle could muster as she was that flabbergasted by the old woman's sudden appearance. How on earth she had managed to get within the grounds was beyond Belle's imagination and that was really saying something.

"Is it really true?" asked the beggar woman, coming closer towards Belle. In pure day-light she looked a lot more animated and real than the night Belle had first encountered her by the balcony. "Does no one ever see him now?"

"I'm afraid so," replied Belle. "I myself have not seen him ever since the fire."

"I see," replied the beggar woman, and she suddenly seemed very troubled. A frown appeared across her brow and she seemed to be thinking very hard about something. "That's an awfully long time, the fire happened over three months ago. I have heard rumours that he is much changed."

"Well, it is hard to say," replied Belle as she narrowed her eyes, becoming more and more curious over why the old woman seemed to be so interested in the Prince. "His situation has changed a lot, and I have heard there are financial troubles. But the staff are working as hard as they can to keep the estate running as per usual."

"That is an understatement," scoffed the beggar woman as she looked around the gardens and up once more towards the East Wing. "It is unfortunate, but many villages seem at least a little satisfied to see misfortune befall the vain Prince. Perhaps he will learn a little humility after letting his family heirloom burn to the ground."

Belle could not help agreeing with the old woman about the Prince's character, but she could not allow misinformation to be passed around. She had had first-hand experience with gossip both in Villeneuve and the castle and knew the damage it could cause.

"I hope so too," replied Belle hastily, "but I must correct you there. The Prince was fighting the fire along with his staff, and he stayed in the East Wing all through the night, until fires completely subsided. As much as it might be easier to assume he did nothing, the truth is quite the opposite."

The beggar woman turned slowly to look at Belle with those unnerving cloudy eyes, and the young woman suddenly felt rather self-conscious.

"I've heard that he saved you, is that right?" asked the old woman, as a wry smile appeared on her face.

"Well," stammered Belle, "yes, I- um, he did save a lot of people that night. I was quite close to the fire, and he found me just in time."

"It was rather lucky that he seemed to think of you in such a spur of the moment," replied the beggar woman slowly as her eyes twinkled in the decaying sunlight.

"Yes, very lucky," replied Belle hesitantly as she stared uneasily at her counterpart.

"It seems rather strange, wouldn't you say, that he should seclude himself from the world after that, if he did in fact succeed in stopping the fires himself. You would think he would be proud of such a moment, don't you think?"

Belle turned to look at the East Wing, just as the beggar woman had done so and replied that since nobody had seen the Prince, it was difficult to say why he had become a recluse and not reacted the way most had expected him to.

"Well, enough about the lone wolf stuck in the tower," remarked the beggar woman brightly as she turned to look once more at Belle, her voice taking on a more animated stance. "How are you, dearie?"

"Me?" stated Belle as her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Oh, I'm fine, currently working in the library."

"The library? Is that right? Did the Prince offer you that position or-"

"The Prince?!" replied Belle incredulously as she looked towards the beggar woman who was now entirely absorbed with the herbs Belle had been tending to earlier. "No, it was Cogsworth who offered the position to me. Not too long after we met by the balcony actually."

"I see," replied the old woman, her back towards Belle. With no further response given, Belle continued speaking, feeling unease at the abrupt silence.

"I help in the kitchens as well now, since it's understaffed. I help in the gardens too, best as I can."

The beggar woman opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by the sound of heightened voices, originating from the main gates.

Swivelling around, Belle looked across the grounds towards the entrance and saw two guardsmen waving towards a man on a horse who was galloping towards their direction.

Belle's eyes widened and she froze for a second before turning towards the old woman, who was also looking at the gentleman with obvious intrigue.

"You can't be seen here!" said Belle hoarsely as she made her way towards the old lady. "Please follow me towards the hedges where you won't be seen!"

As the sound of the horse's hooves hitting against the gravel became louder and louder, the old woman looked towards Belle solemnly and replied, "I think it's a little too late for that, my dear."

The old woman was right. As Belle let out a frustrated sigh, the man on the horse approached them and stopped right by the herb garden, which was completely exposed to the main path which lead up to the grand entrance of the castle.

As he patted the grey horse's neck reassuringly, Belle turned around and gave a quick curtsy, carefully positioning herself to hide the old woman standing behind her.

He was a young man, much younger than she had been expecting, with chestnut hair which was pulled back simply, a rather humble appearance for someone who was clearly a gentleman, judging by his velvet green coat and gold-buckled boots.

Reigning in his horse, he offered it soft words of comfort as he wore a rueful smile on his face, his light brown eyes looked down at Belle with amusement.

"Excuse me mademoiselle," he said, "is it still safe to go into the castle via the main entrance?"

"Yes, sir," stammered Belle as she looked on helplessly, "perfectly safe. Only we have been advised to avoid the right side of the open staircase if at all possible."

"That's good to know," replied the young man, grinning. "I shall try to avoid being crushed by any falling turrets. Quite a sight, isn't it?"

"Yes," replied Belle cautiously as she stared at his horse, which was becoming a little restless, scraping the dust off the ground with its right hoof. She didn't know whether she was really allowed to speak to the gentleman as she hadn't been informed of how to react in such a scenario. It was rare to see any nobleman in the grounds and ever since the fire, the Prince had seemed to refrain from inviting any guests to the castle.

"Are you a guest here?" she asked, trying to sound as non-intrusive as possible.

"Well," he replied, smiling as if he found her question peculiar. "I've only come to visit. I wanted to examine the extent of the damage inflicted on the East Wing. I'm something of an architect, you see. And who might you be?"

Belle blinked, realizing that it must come across as odd for a simple servant to be asking why a nobleman was coming to the castle, as if he were trespassing.

"My name is Belle," she replied quickly, giving another curtsy. "I am the current librarian here."

The man took a moment to simply stare at her, as if surprised by her response. After a moment however, he seemed to inwardly smile and look upon her with recognition in his eyes.

"Of course, you are," he replied quietly, which Belle found very odd. "Thank you for your help. Good day to you."

Turning his horse away from the herb garden, he gave her a courteous nod before riding off towards the castle.

Belle stared at his retreating figure with concern. By the looks of it, he had come uninvited, if the two guards just coming up the pathway where anything to go by. A trespasser? Possibly. But he seemed far too well-put together to be a highwayman. On the other hand, he seemed far too nice and humble to be a friend of the Prince's.

"I'm sorry about that," sighed Belle as she turned around to speak to the old lady.

Except she found herself speaking to thin air.

Author's note: I don't usually write at the end of a chapter, but given what happens here, I thought I'd just put in my two-pence. I've deliberately made the Prince mute in this chapter, which wasn't always the case, but not to worry, we shall be in his headspace very soon and hopefully I'll reveal at least a little as to why he is acting so mysteriously. I must warn you all however that things aren't going to go so smoothly for the Prince. Tbh, this was a long time coming, but the basic trajectory is that he's turning into the Beast we are all familiar with from the beginning of the original film. I did say the story was a slow burn! Until next time, thank you all, and keep the comments coming! :D


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

As Augustin turned away from the girl and rode towards the castle, he thought about how flustered Adam had looked that day when he'd caught him peeping through the drawing room door. He'd never seen his friend look that consumed by something in a long time.

And no wonder. The girl really was as beautiful as Adam's eyes had reflected that day. Of course she would still be here on the estate, despite everything that had happened since Augustin had visited. She was probably the only thing that brought the Prince any enjoy joy now.

Passing by the rose garden, Augustin slowed down slightly to look at the rose bushes right by the passage, which led into the secret garden hidden away inside. Gripping hold of his horse's reigns, Augustin stared down at the bushes and was reminded of the past. A little bitterness entered his heart, along with nostalgia.

A long time ago it was, but he still remembered it like it was yesterday. He, Gaston and Adam had been playing in the garden, just a little game of hide and seek. They were, oh, maybe ten or eleven at the time.

As the warm breeze of the early evening air swept his dark hair, Augustin smiled fondly as he remembered the long summer days they'd spent playing together. Before things started to change, as they always do. Before Adam's mother died…

So many things had happened in such quick succession, and Augustin still found it surprising that he had been able to remain Adam's friend, at least for a time. His father had always been a rather clever man, and he managed to stay in the Duke's good graces, a rather rare feat for someone of middling class.

Augustin stared once more at the bushes, it's roses already starting to wilt despite it still being only early autumn. They looked a lot smaller now, compared to when they were children.

He still remembered how much the thorns had hurt, piercing his arms and legs, leaving trails of blood in their wake. He'd had to explain away his injuries when he'd got home that day to his mother and father.

He couldn't tell them what had really happened. How Gaston, who had always held a grudge against him because his lack of aristocratic ties, had purposefully pushed him into the bushes when he'd found him, while Adam still hiding in the garden.

" _You don't deserve to be his friend. You're lower than us, you don't belong here. I don't get why Adam allows you to even be here with us."_

Augustin smiled as he remembered Gaston's scathing words. He always was a rather unpleasant sort of fellow, a very good example of why Augustin found the upper classes at times utterly despicable. He knew of course that Adam wasn't ignorant about how Gaston hadn't wanted him there; for some time, Adam turned a blind eye whenever Gaston had bullied him. Augustin never blamed Adam for this; they were children and Gaston, at the time, had been considerably larger than Adam, and they were expected to get along by their respective families. It was social obligation, Augustin was sure of it.

Turning his horse away from the rose gardens, Augustin walked on towards the castle. As he looked up at the East Wing, black and covered with soot, Augustin swallowed uneasily, feeling his thoughts taking on a darker turn.

He did not know what had happened to Adam, but after his mother's death he grew distant, and Augustin began to wonder whether the boy whom he had once called his dearest friend was in fact more like Gaston than he had previously thought.

Yet he still remembered how Adam had found the two of them, and instead of standing aside, he had proceeded to push the intimidating boy into the bushes also, and then put a smack in his face for good measure. Not an entirely bad memory, which was why Augustin looked back upon his childhood with fondness. Adam had stuck up for him, which could have cost him a lot, if anyone had seen their little altercation.

" _Augustin is our friend Gaston. You will treat him with respect."_

Augustin smirked as he leapt off his horse and led it towards the stables by the side of the grand staircase. Even then Adam had already mastered how to sound like an authoritative figure. He remembered how he'd thought then that his best friend was going to make an excellent Duke one day.

As Augustin came out of the stables and approached the silent castle, he felt his smile slip a little. Back then, things were simpler, and people didn't pay attention to a little adolescent skirmish.

Not soon after however, Gaston's family had fallen from grace, and they had been forced to move away. Adam had been instructed by the late Duke to sever all ties with Gaston, which he dutifully did. Augustin had always suspected that the cruel boy had never forgiven Adam for that.

Being so caught up in his own thoughts, Augustin did not recognize the stout old man who had come out of the castle doors and was now approaching him at a hurried pace.

"Monsieur! Monsieur! Is that you? Augustin?"

The young man smiled with amusement at Cogsworth's use of his first name, but did not seek to correct him. He had known the current Head of the Household since he was a child, and he had spent many hours down in the kitchens or in Cogsworth's office while he waited for Adam to finish his studies and join him outside to play. He remembered fondly how he had helped Cogsworth many an afternoon sorting through bills and lists. In secret, of course.

"Hello, my friend," said Augustin as he leapt up the steps and pulled off his riding gloves to greet Cogsworth properly. "It has been some months, hasn't it?"

"An understatement, if I have ever heard one," said Cogsworth lowly as he took in Augustin's hand and shook it. "But you seem very well sir."

"Indeed, I am. I was glad to hear from you," replied Augustin as they made their way into the castle. "So much has happened since I came here last, but you have coping as best as you can?"

"Well, there's not much else we could do," replied Cogsworth wearily as he closed the double doors and led Augustin towards the fireplace by the side of the grand staircase. It was rather quiet, and the young man immediately noticed the lack of persons about, because he could hear the echo of his footsteps against the marble floor.

"I wouldn't have thought to write, given your strained relationship, but the master is in such bad shape at the moment that I thought perhaps an old friend might-"

"You were not wrong to think so," replied Augustin swiftly as Cogsworth gestured for him to sit down. "I came without hesitation, I assure you."

"I am glad to hear that," replied Cogsworth as he sat opposite Augustin. "It is good to know that he has at least one loyal friend."

Augustin lifted his eyebrows in response, wishing Cogsworth to digress.

Cogsworth blinked before finally understanding Augustin's lack of response.

"Of course, perhaps you would not know, given the different circles you now move in but, the Prince's reputation, shall we say, has been damaged as a result of the fire."

"Damaged?" replied Augustin incredulously as he leaned forward in his chair. "How could it be damaged by the result of a fire? Surely society would sympathize, especially for someone of his stature."

"For his father, maybe," replied Cogsworth as he smiled pitifully at Augustin. "You were always lucky Augustin with the company you kept. You weren't held up to same degree of high expectation the master was always burdened with, although I must congratulate you for the success you have now bestowed upon your family."

Cogsworth bowed his head and smiled proudly at the handsome young man in front of him, who was now humbly shaking his head in retaliation.

"Becoming a leading architect for not just the aristocracy but for His Majesty also is no easy feat," continued Cogsworth. "We are all very proud of you, as would your father, if he were still here."

"You praise me too much sir," replied Augustin, feeling a little embarrassed. "I am where I am now because of my father's work. I owe everything to him."

Cogsworth merely smiled wryly in response. It was clear the young man was not going to accept any praise thrown at him.

"I must admit there was a reason for my hastiness outside," continued Cogsworth as he moved the conversation back to where it had been before. "I'm afraid I have kept your coming here a secret from the master. He does not know that I wrote to you."

"Is that wise?" asked Augustin hesitantly, keeping his voice low. "I have not been to any major cities such as Paris in the time I have been away, but I have heard some things. They apparently now call him the 'The Phantom Prince'... In all honesty, I didn't know what to think of all the various gossip I heard on my travels."

"As always, Augustin, you keep a clear head," replied Cogsworth as he let out a heavy sigh. "I'm afraid, however, that most of what you have heard is probably true. I gave you the figures in our letter. Having seen the damage from outside, what is your professional opinion?"

Augustin stared at Cogsworth, but he could see the old man already knew his answer.

"I'm afraid your calculations are right, Cogsworth. I have never worked on anything quite this size, but even so, the figures don't add up. To fix the East Wing properly will take both time and work. And without the sufficient funds, I'm afraid…"

Cogsworth held up his hand and nodded his head in resignation.

"You do not need to say anymore young man, we are in agreement. As for the Prince, would you like to see him?"

"I suppose the question we ought to be asking is whether he would like to see me," replied Augustin, his voice somehow both melancholy and amusing. "But yes, if you think it will help."

"I don't know how much you have heard, but the master is aware of the situation at hand. His trip to Paris to attend the end of summer ball did not go swimmingly, and I am under the impression that he was held under scrutiny during his time there. His reputation has suffered, and I believe that is the reason for his seclusion. But the longer he shuts himself away from the world, the harder it will become to remain an authoritative figure in this region and uphold his family's name. You do understand, don't you?"

"Yes," replied Augustin simply as he rose from his chair. "I always thought I understood Adam's situation, even from where I stand. It sounds to me as if he has not spoken to you very much."

"Not at all sir," replied Cogsworth. "Oh, he does venture from the West Wing, but no one ever sees him. It is quite strange really."

Augustin smiled as he remembered the secret door inside the West Wing which Adam had proudly shown him one afternoon when they firmly established their friendship. It was a sign of trust from the young Duke to be, and Augustin remembered how the passageway led into the woods behind the castle.

"Yes, indeed, very strange," he replied nebulously as Cogsworth guided him to the West Wing.

…

Maurice walked down the cobbled path which led to the heart of Villeneuve with a spring in his step. Although autumn, the air was still relatively warm, and Maurice let the late sunshine fan his face as he made his way down to the local tavern. Ever since Belle had left, he had found it harder and harder to be on his own in the cottage. Perhaps there were too many memories in there, memories of Belle, and inevitably certain anxiety would set in as he worried about his daughter's welfare. Every fortnight or so however, he received a letter from the castle, and Belle wrote about her daily life and activities, especially about the hundreds and hundreds of books she now had the pleasure of being surrounded by.

Despite their situation, she seemed relatively happy and content. The staff there treated her well, or at least that was what Maurice was able to distinguish from her many letters. D'Arque had been correct in sending her there, and after some weeks of trepidation, Maurice had finally been able to admit so to D'Arque, who was pleased to hear that the old man was on the same page as him.

Yet Maurice could not get rid of the nagging feeling that Belle was not being completely honest in her letters. She did not speak, for example, about the Prince.

As he passed the various shops in the village, the candles being lit for the street lamps, children were being ushered into homes as day turned to dusk and the baker was shutting up shop.

Maurice had not exactly been expecting Belle to say that she encountered the Prince within the castle on a regular basis; he was, of course, aware of the segregation that naturally existed within such a household.

Still, to not mention the Duke at all, especially after all that had happened over the summer…

"Good evening, Maurice," said Pere Robert, who was just coming out of the chapel. "Are you off to the tavern?"

"Indeed, sir, I am," replied Maurice, pleased to see the local chaplain. He was one of the few people in the village who seemed to have his head on straight. "I find it rather lonely to spend my evenings by myself in the cottage."

"Is that so?" replied Pere, sounding a little surprised. "I had always assumed you were quite happy with your own company. Not that I would ever accuse you of being a recluse."

Maurice smiled in response before replying, "I see my reputation proceeds me. You are quite right, however. Things have not been the same since Belle left, and I do enjoy the company of the odd person or two."

"That is good to hear," replied the chaplain warmly as he shut the chapel door. "And how is Belle these days?"

"Yes, I have been keeping in touch with her," said Maurice as the chaplain joined him on his walk towards the tavern. "She is doing well, or at least that is what she tells me. Her work as a librarian among other things keeps her busy."

"A very enviable station I must say," replied Pere. "I still remember how she eagerly came to my chapel every other day, borrowing every single book I had. I often felt guilty having to tell her that I had no new books for her to read."

"Oh no sir, she appreciated your generosity immensely, more than you could possibly know," replied Maurice as they approached the tavern. One could already hear the joyful sounds of people chatting away inside.

"Would you like to join me for a drink?" asked Maurice as he opened the door.

Just as the chaplain replied that he would, another man came charging towards them, nearly stumbling into Maurice if not for the chaplain putting his hand out just in time.

"I say!" exclaimed Pere, as he looked up at the black-haired man who seemed thoroughly disgruntled. "Are you quite alright?"

"Perfectly fine," replied Gaston, who looked up glaringly at the chaplain. "If you will excus-"

His voice faded upon connecting eyes with Maurice, who was looking at him as if he were some devilish creature that had suddenly happened upon him in the woods.

"Maurice," breathed Gaston, changing his demeanour immediately as he smiled down at the old man.

"Gaston," replied Maurice, "it has been quite some time."

"Indeed," murmured Gaston, nodding his head perhaps a little too eagerly. "I have been away during the hunting season you see. How is Belle?"

"She is well," said Maurice curtly, his voice if not a little cold.

"Such a frightful thing that happened over the summer. It is a shame, what happened at that castle," replied Gaston as he narrowed his coal-like eyes, sounding rather pleased rather than aggrieved.

"Indeed," said Pere, as he cautiously watched Gaston, who was looking a little too enthusiastically at Maurice. "It is good know that nobody died as a result of that terrible incident."

"Yes, good to know that Belle survived," chimed in the local hero, who looked pretentiously solemn. "I believe men from this village were sent there to help. Did you go as well, Maurice?"

Maurice looked up in surprise and stared at Gaston with barely contained contempt in his eyes. It was clear that he already knew the answer, judging by the smug smile on his face.

"I did not," replied Maurice simply as Pere looked at him with concern.

"Oh," replied Gaston, taking a step back in surprise. "I had assumed you'd went and made sure your daughter was alright. After all, I have heard that the fire destroyed an entire wing and you are, of course, the reason she was there in the first place."

Maurice's eyes flashed with anger and he opened his mouth to retort back, but was interrupted by Pere, who spoke over him and exclaimed that he remembered seeing the tavern keeper coming back from the castle, telling everyone that their family members were safe.

"Yes, indeed, I remember that," replied Maurice, but he kept his gaze on Gaston. "I asked him before he went, to look for Belle. I was not allowed to go; they only wanted strong, young men who could actually be of use. Upon returning, he told me quite clearly that not only had he seen Belle, but that he had actually spoken to her as well, outside by the castle grounds. She'd asked him to relay a message back to me to say that she was alright and unharmed."

"That must have been very good to hear," replied Pere quickly before Gaston had a chance to respond. It did not prevent the ex-soldier however from saying his piece.

"Indeed. Of course, this could have all been avoided had I been here. I am convinced I could have put out that fire much quicker. The poor Prince must have been beside himself, watching his castle burn away. Those aristocrats don't know the first thing about real physical work."

"As a matter of fact, I have heard that the Prince helped put out the fire," replied Pere, wishing to correct Gaston.

"Is that right?" exclaimed Gaston as he turned slowly to look at the chaplain with a false smile plastered on his face. "Well, he didn't do a very good job of it, did he? Half of the damned place burned down."

"He saved a lot of people that night Gaston, the staff and surrounding villages should be thankful," returned Pere, his gaze hardening slightly. He did not appreciate Gaston's hollow sentiments towards the incident.

"Thankful?" said Gaston hoarsely, as his eyes flashed with the first signs of anger. "Really? For the way he has been taxing these villages? Dear sir, you are but a mere chaplain, narrow-minded when it comes to the ways of this world. But I have had experience with such men before, and believe me, thankful is the very last thing we should be feeling for their set."

A lesser man would have shrunk away from such a speech, but Pere Robert was not only a respectable man but also one of faith. He was not someone who could be easily intimidated.

"Obviously, we differ sir in our ideology," replied the chaplain calmly, ignoring Gaston's glaring eyes. "I believe that without such support, these villages could not survive, although it may not seem that way to you sir. I am glad anyway, that nobody perished as a result of that fire."

"Indeed," replied Maurice, suddenly feeling rather uneasy with the way the conversation was veering. He had not forgotten how D'Arque had spoken to him about Gaston's previous ties with the young Duke.

"I have even heard that the Prince saved Belle. Is this true Maurice?" asked Pere, not realizing that he was making the situation worse.

"If that is true, you should expect that he will want something in return," snapped Gaston, whose expression was no longer pleasant, to say the least.

"What?" stammered Maurice, who did not wish to listen deeply to the connotations of Gaston's words.

"He is known as a notable rake, Maurice," replied Gaston, sounding again rather pleased with himself. "A life is a heavy price. But Belle is beautiful, I'm sure he will feel more than compensated."

Maurice gaped as the towering man came closer towards him, his eyes like slits.

"Remember what I said to you in the spring Maurice. I can save your daughter, if you only order her to come back here, where it is safe."

Before Maurice form a response, Gaston stepped away and walked wordlessly away into the night, just as LeFou came bumbling out of the tavern with a lantern in hand.

"Good evening Maurice," he said swiftly as he passed the two men and followed Gaston like a neglected puppy.

"I don't understand why he follows him around like a servant," sighed Pere as he turned to look at Maurice, who looked visibly shaken. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," replied Maurice, his voice wavering slightly. "Let us go inside. I really am in a need for a drink now."

"Maurice," said Pere, putting a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from moving hastily away. "You must not believe his words. If Belle says she is well, she is well. Your daughter is an honest girl and moreover, she has respect for herself. If something were to ever truly go wrong, I have no doubt that she would ask for help. I am acquainted with some of the staff there, and I can assure you that they are good people. I am confident that she is being well taken care of."

Maurice smiled as the chaplain's encouraging words entered his ears. He was almost convinced.

But not quite.

"They call him the 'Phantom Prince', don't they?" murmured Maurice, looking up at Pere. "They say the estate is in debt. Do you believe that to be true?"

"I would not believe in rumours Maurice, it has never led to anything good," replied Pere firmly.

Maurice nodded solemnly and turned towards the tavern door.

"You cannot blame a father for worrying after his only child though, can you?"

Pere looked up in surprise, at the sagging shoulders of the old man.

"Indeed, I cannot," he replied, just as it began to rain.


	16. Chapter 16

Author's note: Hello guys, sorry for the long wait! I hope you enjoy the next chapter, it might not necessarily go the way you might have imagined but I hope you liked it nevertheless! As always, a slow-burn but I really enjoyed writing this chapter and I'm looking forward to the next section of the story! :D Thank you so much to all the readers who have supported this story since the start and have been patiently waiting – you're all amazing and I really appreciate it! This is for you - happy reading guys!

Chapter 16

Belle had been tempted to venture into the library on many an occasion, but she had managed to refrain herself from doing so for several months. She did not wish to repeat the night she'd fallen asleep by the fireplace, where she had been reading after hours. The shock of waking to find herself in the arms of the Duke remained fresh in her mind and she could still see his hard eyes staring down at her, his face so stoic it could have been carved from marble.

Belle had seen him looking furious before of course but that night she could tell he was genuinely upset. Although he disapproved of her, it was clear he did care about the welfare of his servants, if the way he had wordlessly re-entered the castle soon after their short conversation was anything to go by. She supposed the Prince also did not wish to have the death of a servant on his conscience.

He had once said that he thought her to be lower than dirt because of her low status as a scullery maid. Yet Belle had watched all night as he took command of both his servants and the villagers, ignoring Cogsworth and Lumiere's pleas for him to stay away from the growing fire. It would be easier to assume that the reason for this act of selflessness was because the Prince merely wanted to save his ancestral home, but somewhere at the back of Belle's mind she suspected he was doing it also to save the livelihoods of the servants and countless people who worked there. He must have been at least partially aware they relied on the estate to live relatively comfortable lives. Belle could not have come to such a conclusion when she had been living in Villeneuve, where the only interference from the castle came in the form of tax bills.

Not that this wavered Belle's mind when it came to her disapproval of how frivolously the Prince spent the public's well-earned tax money, but ever since the fire, the atmosphere in and around the castle had changed. Portraits were being sold, rooms were being emptied and soon entire areas of the castle were effectively closed shut. Only half the castle's chandeliers were ever lit each night, mostly, according to Cogsworth, to save money as high-quality candlewax was becoming ever increasingly expensive.

When it came the Prince, or the 'Phantom Prince' as they now called him, Belle viewed him with a certain amount of pity and befuddlement. She understood that misfortune had fallen upon the estate, and, if certain rumours about his trip to Paris were valid, that the Prince had fallen into so much debt that he had reached the point where he was effectively shunned by society. Yet Belle could not comprehend the reason behind his hermit-like existence, nor why he did not try to salvage and restore his estate to its former glory. She had always assumed that he was a proud sort of fellow, and as the months passed and the castle fell into further disrepair and disuse, Belle wondered why the Prince had decided to do nothing when she knew he valued nothing more in the world than his own status and wealth. It did not make any sense, especially after that terrible night when he had taken such desperate measures to save the castle, commanding those around him effectively so that they wasted as little time as possible in putting an end to the inferno.

Yet no change happened for months, and as the weeks passed, the East Wing remained as it was, a constant, haunting reminder of what had happened that night.

Belle carried on, going through each day like the one before, sorting through books, working in the gardens alongside with the other maids, cleaning the kitchens and wiping the windows of the drawing rooms still at least partially in use. Some days she would write to her father and even think up stories which she would jot down into a notebook she always carried around with her.

As the days bled into weeks and then into months however, Belle began to feel certain unease. Working in the library was not like reading for pleasure, and though she passed countless of books she would love to read, she knew that, first of all, she was not allowed to read them, and secondly, that there was practically no time in which to do so anyway.

At least, this is what she told herself.

After gaining the Prince's approval, Belle had been helping Chip to read ever since discovering that he had a little difficulty with it the second time he'd come to the library, about a week after the fire. What had once been merely an hour's worth of reading time however had now turned into fully fledged lessons. Belle did not mind; she encouraged Chip to learn as much as he could, and as for herself she enjoyed teaching as it reminded her of the girls in Villeneuve she used to teach. All this took up most of her time, and since the Prince never visited the library, Belle allowed Chip to stay for longer than an hour each week. By autumn, he was frequenting the library often, returning and retrieving books which he read in his own spare time.

Villeneuve…

Belle missed her papa, but her frequent correspondence with him did help. It did not help though with her sleepless nights, which were becoming far more frequent. When Belle had lived at home, she would often go to sleep by reading in bed. It had always helped her to calm down and stop worrying thoughts from entering her mind as she tried to sleep. Ever since living in the castle however, she did not have the luxury of having a book by her bedside, and as a result, she was finding it harder and harder to go to sleep each night.

The reappearance of the beggar woman in the afternoon had been a rather jarring experience, and though Belle had been pleased to see her, she could not help but worry about what had happened to the old lady afterwards. If the Prince was a 'Phantom', then surely the beggar woman was more like a spirit than a being. She always seemed to disappear into thin air the minute Belle turned her back on her. Something about the old lady did not feel right, but Belle could not put her finger on what exactly that was.

Such invading thoughts were clouding her mind that particular night, and Belle found herself sitting up in her bed and letting out a frustrated sigh, aware that she was probably in for another sleepless night. If only she could have a book, even just one…

Glancing at her side table, Belle pursed her lips into a thin line. She shouldn't, she really, really shouldn't. She couldn't- she….

Belle sat deliberating in silence for a while, before finally gathering her resolve and standing up. When she had first come to the castle she had been inexperienced. She hadn't known her way around the maze-like structure, but now she knew it's inner movements. Everything worked like clockwork in the castle and Belle knew that at that precise moment the castle's inhabitants were fast asleep. It would take her, at the very most, fifteen minutes to grab a book and come back down again.

"Nobody will know, you'll put the book back again first thing in the morning," whispered Belle to herself before lighting a candle and pulling on her dressing gown. It would be freezing outside, but a good story to lose herself in was worth the bracing cold.

The castle was like a ghost house, and as Belle made her way quietly up to the East Wing, she realized for the first time just how quiet the castle could be. Now that there were no guests staying in the wings, the portrait gallery was deserted and Belle encountered no one, not like the night she had first went up to look at the ballroom.

The night she first met the Prince…

Realizing that she had made it all the way up to the library, Belle shook away the troubling thoughts in her mind and stepped forward, opening the door very quietly. It creaked ever so slightly, which made her wince, but Belle knew there was a very slim chance that anyone heard her.

Once inside, she let out a sigh of relief. As her shoulders began to relax, Belle looked around the room and swept the area to see whether any candles were lit. It was dark however, and utterly deserted, yet Belle did not feel that sense of unease she'd felt when walking through the empty hallways of the castle to get to the library. Inside, surrounded by her books, she felt oddly safe.

It did not stop her from feeling the adrenaline pumping through her veins though. She needed to get what she needed and then retreat back to her room as quickly as possible.

Speeding past the history section, Belle made a beeline towards the bookcase where she kept all the plays she's managed to find throughout the library. Strangely enough it was the sort of material which was scattered the most around the various sections. Scanning the shelf on the far right near one of the many spiral staircases which led to the balcony above, Belle glanced quickly over the titles until she found what she was looking for.

"There it is," she muttered to herself as she pulled out a thinly bound book from the shelf and opened it up, scanning its contents just to make sure she hadn't picked up the wrong play.

"That one is my favourite you know."

Belle's eyes widened and she felt her body flinch in response to the strange voice, the hair at the back of her neck rising instantaneously. As her fingers loosened, Belle watched in horror as the candle in her hand dropped to the floor, creating a large thwack against the wooden surface.

Swerving around, she hastily picked up the fallen candelabra and held it up in front of her like she was wielding a sword.

"Who's there!" she called out, her voice clear but nonetheless guarded.

"I'm surprised you don't recognize me," replied the deep voice, echoing off the walls so that she couldn't tell where it was coming from. "I thought you had a better memory than that."

Just as the figureless person finished speaking, Belle looked up to see a faint silhouette up by the balcony, looking down towards her.

Belle slowly stepped backwards until she felt the bookcase behind hit her back.

She didn't believe in ghosts, but she could swear the figure almost didn't seem real, it's edges glowing against the moonlight streaming through the windowpane behind.

"Stay back," she yelled, just as the figure began to move away from the window and slip back into the darkness. Belle began to squint, trying to make out where the figure had gone, but then she heard leisurely footsteps coming down the spiral staircase opposite. Realizing that the figure, whoever or whatever it was, was coming closer towards her, she moved away from the bookcase and stepped back towards the entrance of the library, once again raising her voice.

"Who are you and what are you doing here!"

"There's no need to get so defensive," said the voice once more, this time rather softly.

Belle felt her body shake as she realized the close proximity between her and the faceless person, but just as she was about to turn to raise the bell by the door and alert the staff, her eyes caught sight of someone coming out of the darkness to stand in the middle of the floor. Turning towards the figure, Belle lifted the flameless candelabra again.

Judging by his ragged appearance, she guessed that he was an intruder. The man was tall and looked dangerous, with long dishevelled hair and a thick beard which made it nearly impossible to guess his age.

"If you come any closer, I will use this against you," said Belle hoarsely. "Since you are clearly an intruder, I must warn you that you have made a terrible mistake in coming here tonight!"

"It seems that I have," murmured the stranger, sounding almost amused as he stepped closer towards Belle.

Her eyes widened, and she nearly dropped the candelabra for the second time that night.

He was much changed. His hair was now longer than it had been before; loose, giving him an almost wild appearance. He could have been mistaken for a pauper, for he only wore a crumpled white shirt, dark breeches and a long worn-down looking robe, and as for his complexion, it was clear, even in the dim moonlight, that he had been drinking heavily for there were dark circles under his eyes and he had an almost haggard-like appearance. The biggest change however, was that he now sported a beard, which made him look instantly much older than before, and was the main reason why Belle had failed to recognize him.

As she stood frozen on the spot, unequivocally staring at the Prince, he stepped towards the bookcase she had been browsing only moments before, picking up the by now long forgotten copy of 'Much Ado About Nothing' off the ground.

"'For man is a giddy thing,'" muttered the much-changed Prince as he looked down at the cover before turning towards Belle. "I think I agree with that."

"You've read it?" stammered Belle as she wrapped her cloak tightly around herself. In her moment of surprise, she had forgotten to call him 'sir' or curtsy or do any of things that she ought to have done, but given the strange situation she found herself in, one could forgive her for forgetting such proprieties.

"I had an expensive education," replied the Prince rather sardonically as he glanced at Belle, who was shivering slightly from the cold. "You probably expected that I liked something a little more morbid."

"I- er," said Belle in a stilted fashion, unable to think of anything to say. His voice was deeper than it had been before; again, this was probably down to the drinking, and he sounded tired, as if he hadn't slept in days. His gaze was still as direct as ever and he still had the effect of immediately increasing the tension in the air, which Belle did not appreciate.

"I knew you would come back eventually," said the Prince, releasing Belle from the pressure of having to say something in return. He did not seem angry in seeing her there; if anything, he seemed mildly amused by her flustered behaviour. "Couldn't resist it, could you?"

Belle opened her mouth to retort but the Prince spoke once again, slowly coming towards her in an almost nonchalant-like manner. As she looked down, she realized that he was barefoot, despite the fact that the floor was probably freezing.

"I do not condemn you for coming here. I expected it of you, although I am surprised that it took you so long. I would have thought your passion for reading would have led you here sooner."

Belle frowned as she thought about the statement before looking up to see the Prince staring down at her with almost expressionless eyes. She noted that, unlike before, he seemed to keep his distance.

"Your Highness," stammered Belle, finally managing to call him by his title. "How did you know I enjoyed reading?"

The Prince's sapphire-like eyes widened, as if he found her question somehow alarming, before they narrowed almost instantly.

"If Cogsworth offered you a job as a librarian, then the natural conclusion would be that you enjoyed reading," replied the Prince, his tone rather scathing as he turned away from the young woman and walked towards the fireplace.

Belle stiffened as she realized that the Prince's volatile nature still remained despite the changes to his outward appearance. This guaranteed that it was utterly impossible to foresee how their conversation was going to proceed. Given the way their previous interactions had ended, Belle had a very bad feeling about how the night was going to end. As if reading her thoughts, the Prince turned around and stared directly at her tense form, giving an almost sarcastic shake of the head before replying.

"Don't worry mademoiselle, I am not going to repeat what I did in the ballroom that night. I am far too tired and wasted to do so. I was only enjoying a rather interesting passage of Othello in the upper balcony when I heard somebody rudely come in and disturb my peaceful evening."

"Your Highness," started Belle as she came towards the Prince who was, for some reason, crouching down by the fire. "I am terribly sorry-"

"I do apologize for my dishevelled appearance," said the Prince, his rough voice over-powering Belle's as he dismissed her apology abruptly. "I am aware it must be rather alarming, but I find I do suit it. Much more than those ridiculous outfits and wigs that I used to wear anyway."

As Belle came closer, she realized that the Duke was re-igniting the fireplace, which was still burning, though she hadn't noticed when she first came into the library.

"Sir, please do not trouble yourself," exclaimed Belle, coming to crouch down beside him, "I will take care of it-"

She was silenced by the Prince's hand, which, in a flash, swiftly clasped Belle's wrist in a soft yet firm hold, stopping her from interfering any further.

"Let me do this," he said quietly, not looking up at her but still giving off the air of not wanting to be defied.

For a moment Belle sat still, staring at the Prince in bewilderment. Then she felt the warmth of his hand and, looking down, immediately pulled her hand away from his. He offered no resistance.

"Sit down," he said gruffly, turning back towards the fireplace, causing Belle to freeze, still crouching down on the ground, a little stunned at his words. The Prince, noting her silence, looked up and, realizing that she hadn't moved, felt some form of discomfort for he proceeded to correct himself.

"Excuse my brash behaviour, would you please kindly sit down by the fire? I'm afraid I've lost my touch due to my lack of social contact. Not that I miss it."

The Duke's voice was cutting and dry, strangely more so than before, which made it hard for Belle to come up with any sort of reply because he sounded as if he were deliberately trying to end a conversation.

Turning away from the Prince, Belle wordlessly sat down in one of the armchairs, feeling a slight change in the air. Weirdly enough, she still felt the Prince's hand on her wrist and, looking down at place where he had touched her, felt a certain amount of curiosity and trepidation, both in equal measure. Why he felt such a personal connection towards the tending of the fire she could not possibly understand, especially as she naturally assumed he did not want to get his hands dirty.

"You have been working hard I see, re-categorizing this library."

Belle looked up in alarm, but was relieved to see that the Prince still faced the fire, shifting the wood carefully with a black poker.

"Yes sir," she replied dutifully, folding her skirts as she felt the fire slowly grow and it's heat gradually reach her toes.

"You're doing a splendid job of it I must say," sighed the Prince as he stood up and rubbed the soot off his hands. "I was always lazy when it came to putting books back where I found them. I used to drive the librarian mad, poor old man. Of course, that's how my father always figured out I had been reading material that he deemed 'inappropriate'."

Belle stared up at the Prince, vaguely aware that she probably wore a blank look on her face. It couldn't be helped; there were too many conflicting impressions of the Prince in her head and she was too busy making sense of it all. She had assumed he had little to no interest in the library, but now it slowly dawned on her that, unknown to the castle staff, the Prince still frequented the library, just not when they expected him to. That explained why the place had been so disorganized when she'd first been brought up here.

The Prince on the other hand, interpreted her silence in a completely different manner.

"Not that kind of 'inappropriate' sweet," he said in a flat voice as he offered her a smirk which immediately snapped her out of her vague state. "They were merely fictional stories, fables and fantasies which my father deemed a waste of time. I used to read them for hours at a time. The late Duke was more inclined towards history and in particular encouraged the study of historical warfare. Hardly surprising really, when I think back on it now."

Belle sat in silence as the Prince took his place opposite her by the fire, and once again she found it difficult to come up with a substantial answer. As the seconds passed however, she became aware that the Prince was not going to say anything. He merely clasped his fingers together and stared into the fire.

His eyes seemed weirdly dormant, as if they had lost the vibrant expression they once held. Something had happened clearly, something so drastic that it, as a result, had led the Duke to hide himself away from the world. Belle just did not know what.

She wasn't too sure whether she wanted to know either.

"I have not seen you in the library sir as of late," was all she managed to come up with. After such a long absence which had spanned nearly four months, it was hard to talk about anything really. Besides, all their encounters had been, up until this point, hardly conversational in tone.

"Yes, well, I only come here after hours," replied the Prince after a moment, finally looked up at Belle with his clear blue eyes. "When I can't sleep that is."

Belle looked down at her lap, feeling suddenly a little embarrassed. They were both here for the same reason. Belle had a vivid imagination, but even she could not have come up with such a strange and surreal scenario.

"You, on the other hand, as the official librarian, can come here whenever you please," continued the Prince, his voice turning a little accusatory. "Why did you decide to come here in the middle of the night?"

Belle gripped her fingers together and looked up. She noticed that the Prince's expression had hardened compared to the last time she'd seen him, but strangely enough she found it easier to look at him now in his current state of dishevelment than before, when he had looked every part the Prince one would read about in fairy-tales.

"The books are not my property sir," replied Belle swiftly. "My job is to organize the books, not read them."

"I suppose you refrained from coming here for so long because of what happened that night I found you here," said the Prince, his voice low and strangely quiet. He did not look at Belle as he said this, choosing instead to stare at the flickering flames.

The tension in the room began to rise, and Belle was overcome with the urge to say something she had been meaning to tell the Prince for a long time.

"Sir," started Belle, raising her voice a little so that she would capture the Prince's attention. "I must apologize-"

Prince groaned out loud, much to Belle's astonishment, before turning to look at her with a disappointed look on his face, his mouth twisted into a scowl.

"If I hear you apologize one more time, I swear I will throttle you," he muttered, his deep voice sounding languid but nevertheless irritable. "It is in the past, forget it. God knows I want to. You have been avoiding answering my question mademoiselle. Why did you come here in the middle of the night?"

Belle took her time to form a reply, clearing her throat in the process, aware that the Prince's gaze was directed firmly towards her.

"I do not sleep well."

Belle felt the Prince pause to consider her statement before replying. If he noticed that they shared a similar conundrum he did not comment on it.

"Is that right. And what troubles you?"

"Nothing troubles me sir," replied Belle, keeping her gaze directed towards the fire, causing her eyesight to blur slightly because the brightness of the flames. "I just have trouble sleeping."

"And reading helps?" asked the Prince, his voice soft and low.

"Yes, sir," replied Belle, beginning to feel a little jittery. "It calms me down, and it stops me-"

"From thinking about things that you don't want to think about," finished the Prince, as Belle looked up to stare at him in surprise. "It helps you to escape."

"Yes, exactly," breathed Belle, blinking her eyes as if she couldn't quite believe the sudden change of direction their conversation had taken.

Evidently noticing that Belle was staring at him in a rather alarmed fashion, the Prince shifted uncomfortably in his seat before turning his gaze away.

Belle knew that it was beyond propriety, but she could not quench her curiosity. Before she could do so much as think about whether the question she was about to ask was really appropriate or not she said-

"Do you use reading as a form of escapism sir?"

The Prince's head shot up abruptly, and it was clear that he thought Belle's question inappropriate to say the least, given their status'. Under normal circumstances they would not even been talking to one another. Something about her demeanour however caused him to relax a little, and, perhaps because it was so late and he generally felt more relaxed during the night, he tried to find an answer to her question.

"As a boy," he said finally, avoiding her wide, curious eyes, "I was not allowed to read what I wanted. I was told what to read and if I was ever caught reading anything else which my father deemed 'inappropriate' I was-"

Belle kept her face as neutral as possible. As he stopped mid-sentence, it was clear to Belle that Prince felt he had said too much.

Much to her surprise however, he continued speaking, his voice taking on an almost lethargic note, which eluded to the fact that he had probably spent the night drinking.

"I was not given freedom of choice. I spent many a night sneaking up here, reading by candlelight, careful not to creak the floorboards. It's become a bit of a habit I suppose. So yes, I guess you could say I have a thirst for escape."

Belle would have asking more questions, such as why the Prince did not simply come into the library during the day, now that he owned it. He could even take the books into the West Wing, where she guessed he spent most of his time now. Belle did not press on the matter however, as it was clear that to the Prince this was a sensitive subject.

Under normal circumstances, she would have a felt a little sceptical about his words. After all, she did not trust him, but she could tell that tonight, in the here and now, he was speaking the truth. Though she still did not fully comprehend why he had missed his own father's funeral, clearly there was a history there between them which explained the Prince's animosity towards the late Duke.

"Sir," said Belle cautiously, aware that the Prince's mind was clearly somewhere else as he stared into the flames. "If you will not allow me to apologize, then please at least let me say this as I never had the opportunity to speak to you before."

After a moment, the Duke slowly lifted his gaze and stared at Belle with his clear blue eyes, which seemed to flicker in the darkness. Belle felt her cheeks warm as she realized how embarrassed she still felt over what had happened on the night of the fire.

"Thank you for finding me that night," said Belle, as she struggled to keep her voice steady. "If you hadn't found me, I dread to think what might have happened."

Curiously the Prince replied much sooner than she had anticipated but she noted the shift in his voice.

"Anybody else would have done the same," he said dismissively, sitting up in his chair. "I find it unacceptable that nobody thought to find you sooner. Servants!"

Belle looked up in alarm as she heard the Prince's voice turn bitter and he proceeded to scoff out loud.

"They can't be trusted to do anything, not even to look after one another."

Belle frowned as she watched the Prince dejectedly recline back into his chair and stare lifelessly at the fire.

"They helped stop the fire sir," replied Belle indignantly as she turned to face him. "Each and every one of them-"

"Yes, because they were thinking of their own livelihoods!" replied the Prince sharply, turning to glare at Belle. "They depend on me, like leeches who suck blood. I'm sure many of them felt rather triumphant to have seen the castle burn to ashes."

Belle shook her head incredulously as she heard the Prince's words, unable to believe what she was hearing.

"That is not true sir! They care about this castle, it is their home as much as yours!"

To Belle's astonishment, the Prince proceeded to laugh, his voice echoing across the library as he leaned across his chair to look Belle in the eye.

The sudden proximity between herself and the Prince was jarring to say the least. She could feel his body heat as he twisted to face her, his arm reaching out to grab hold of the arm of her chair. She could feel his breath on her cheek, but she did not move away.

Belle did not want to give the Prince the satisfaction of seeing her shirk away out of fear.

"Oh really?" he replied, his voice soft and yet scathing at the same time. "Tell me Belle, when you lived in your pathetic village, did you never hear a single peasant speak ill of me or this castle?"

"Well I-"

"Did you not wish that this estate would simply crumble to the ground so that you and your father did not have to pay any more taxes? Did you not think once that if it weren't for the silly Prince living in his shining castle, you wouldn't have leave your village and work as a scullery maid, scrubbing floors all day until your delicate skin turning rough?"

Belle was unable to look away, speak or breathe as the Prince stared at her, his eyes so impenetrably dark that she could see no way out of them. Belle could not even think, for his onslaught of words had been so abrupt, coming out of seemingly nowhere.

"I-" stammered Belle, causing the Prince to merely smile disdainfully in response, as if her sudden loss of speech more than proved his point.

"Exactly," he stated after a brief moment before sitting back down into his armchair. "Loyalty. That is not something which exists in this world."

Closing her eyes, Belle found she was unable to put up much longer with the Prince's dreary and cynical words. She could not argue about her feelings towards; what he said was indeed true. His final statement however, she felt was unfounded for.

"It does exist, sir," she replied slowly, her voice hard and clipped as she was unable to hide her irritability, "but only if you put in the effort to search for it, and more importantly _earn_ it."

Belle knew she had taken a step too far the moment the words flew out of her mouth, but it was too late. She couldn't help but let her sentiments be known.

For a moment, the Prince said nothing and Belle wondered whether he was in fact actually considering her words. As she slowly lifted her gaze however, she saw he was looking at her in an almost incredulous manner, his sapphire blue eyes so intense in the dim light that they put Belle at unease.

"Do you think I haven't looked?" whispered the Prince slowly, looking up towards Belle to reveal a tortured expression on his face. "That I have not been searching for it my entire life? I never found it anywhere and that is why I gave up long ago."

His voice sounded broken and yet defensive at the same time, as if he were some sort of injured animal, and if anything, this made Belle even more unsettled than before. She had been expecting anger, but this…

This made the Prince seem only that much more dangerous and she was at a loss as to how to react. His pained expression eluded to some hidden wound, but she was too far away to know what it was. And as somebody who, under normal circumstances, would not be allowed to speak to him about such personal matters, she knew it was none of her business. So she merely replied-

"You will find loyalty easily sir if you just care for those around you."

She had already been expecting the bitter laugh but it did not fail to make her flinch in her seat.

"You don't mean the servants, do you?" said the Prince, his eyes turning quizzical as looked upon Belle as if she were a simpleton. "I told you once that you were naïve. I stand by that judgement. Servants are here because they are _paid_ to be here, mademoiselle. They have never cared a wit about the residents of this castle, so why on earth should I care for them?"

Belle frowned. In the past, she would have thought the Prince to simply be narrow-minded for coming to such a conclusion, but there was a certain bitterness behind the sarcastic manner of his words which made her think otherwise. She did not comment on it any further however, and decided to steer the conversation into a different direction.

"You don't know that sir," was all the reply she made before smoothing her skirts once more, refusing to meet the Prince's gaze.

"Excuse me?" said the Prince as he sat up in his chair, his voice incredulous. Clearly, he hadn't been prepared for her to still fight back against his allegations.

"You have secluded yourself from the world," elucidated Belle, speaking in a calm yet clear voice. "I doubt you have spoken to a single person in months. How can you know if people care or not, if you do not reach out? You must never presume to know what people think of you sir."

The Prince stared at Belle as if he were staring at a strange piece of clockwork at an exhibition before shaking his head and giving her a wry smile. Despite his change in appearance, Belle noted that he still retained some of the dark, sarcastic humour he always held in the past.

"Tell me, Belle," he said after a moment, clasping his hands loosely together as if he were about to test her. "Do you not feel that the people in this castle view you in a certain way? That your friends, if you even have any, don't find you a little peculiar? Strange?"

As Belle looked down at her lap, she felt her heart begin to beat a little faster. The Prince's soft words seeped into her ears.

"Maybe funny?"

At the use of this term, Belle lifted her head abruptly and could not help the agitation she'd felt inside from spilling out through her expressive eyes.

 _She really is a funny girl that one…_

 _A beauty but a funny girl….._

It was a term the villagers had often used to describe her.

The Prince's expression darkened as his eyes turned grim, as if he were trying to tame some wild beast within himself.

"I think you are a very perceptive person, like me," began the Prince, his voice low but heavy. "We know what people think, we just do. We'd like to think otherwise or be proven wrong, but it never happens. I am sure, for example, that whatever you think of me, however disapproving, is, in fact, mostly true."

As Belle opened her mouth to argue against the Prince's cutting words, he lifted his gaze so sharply that their eyes met instantaneously.

"Don't even think about denying it. Even someone like you, who seems to have the irksome urge to find good in every person she meets, cannot deny the fact that I am not a good man."

Belle felt her eyes fall just as she felt her body tense up once more. She could not argue with the Prince, because he was unfortunately right. What Belle found astonishing however, was just how perceptive he was. By all accounts, she knew that he was reasonably intelligent, but the Prince seemed to be a lot sharper now than his previous outward appearance would have suggested. Did not that alone prove that the Prince was wrong?

As Belle contemplated this, her gaze turned towards the table beside her and the copy of 'Much Ado About Nothing' which the Prince had placed there. Her eyes widened as a certain realization dawned on her. It was a small thing, but in that moment, strangely it felt very significant.

"I did not know you liked to read."

The words were out before she even knew it.

"What?" said the Prince, his voice a faint whisper as he turned to look at Belle, who would not meet his gaze, too shocked at her own words. Nevertheless, she continued, for there was no going back.

"I could never have known that you enjoyed reading. Impressions can only take you so far sir."

Gingerly lifting her eyes, Belle felt the grimace on her face fall as she blinked to see the Prince staring back at her blankly, his eyes almost round as if he were only seeing her for the first time.

The fire continued to crackle in the background as silence fell upon the conversation.

Seeming to realize that he had been staring at her for far too long, the Prince pulled his gaze away from Belle and abruptly stood up, wrapping his robe almost protectively around himself before pacing towards the fireplace, turning his back on Belle.

"So, tell me, what else do you do aside from working in the library?"

Belle lifted her eyebrows as she swallowed nervously. Something rather odd had just happened, but she wasn't quite sure what. In any case, it had left her quite flushed with embarrassment.

"I work in the kitchens sir," said Belle, keeping her voice light and conversational, "I also work in the gardens. As a matter of fact…"

Belle was suddenly reminded of the strange gentleman she'd met in the gardens that afternoon. Was the Prince even aware of his presence? Given his secluded state he was possibly ignorant of the stranger who had trespassed upon his estate.

"I saw someone today sir," said Belle, her voice alert as she sat up in her chair. "A young man, he passed through the grounds and-"

"Ah, yes, an acquaintance," replied the Prince swiftly, his voice once more gruff and dismissive. "He came today without invitation."

Belle surprised to hear that the Prince was aware of the comings and goings of the castle.

"Will he be staying here sir?" she asked.

"I do not know."

The Prince still had his broad back turned against her but Belle noticed that his voice sounded rather stilted, as if he wanted to move away from the subject as quickly as possible. Yet Belle could not help but ask why he, the master of the castle, did not know whether a guest was going to be staying in his home or not.

The Prince sighed exasperatedly before turning to look at Belle. It was clear that he was getting tired, and that their little 'meeting', if one was to give it a name, was slowly coming to an end.

"I refused an audience with him, but he is here in the castle for now," replied the Duke begrudgingly as he sat back down again, his loose hair appearing almost amber in the light of the warm fire. "Ignore him, he is no concern of yours."

"I see," replied Belle, as she nodded diligently. "Well, he seems like a very nice man. He mentioned that he was an architect."

"You spoke with him?"

The Prince's voice was sharp, a complete contrast to his languid state only moments before.

"Well, yes," replied Belle as she stared at the Prince, who was suddenly looking towards her with narrowed eyes, his demeanour completely changed. "He seemed to recognize me, at least when he asked for my name, he smiled as if he already knew it somehow. I can't think why, as I don't think I have ever met him before."

The Prince's eyes widened as if he was suddenly reminded of something rather unpleasant and he proceeded to clear his throat.

"Yes, that is strange," he said roughly as he turned away from Belle and faced the fire again. "I would suggest that you stay away from him; he's known to be quite the ladies man."

At this accusatory statement, Belle lifted her eyebrows with sarcasm. As far as she was concerned, the most dangerous man in the castle was standing right in front of her. The Prince stole a quick glance towards her and, judging by the way he looked away from her almost immediately in a flustered fashion, it was clear that he understood her meaning.

At that precise moment, the clock sitting on the mantelpiece started to chime and Belle felt herself beginning to yawn. Reading the hands on the clock face, Belle nearly gasped out loud.

It was late. Too late.

"Sir," said Belle hastily as she got up from her chair. "It is getting quite late, and I should return to my room."

Prince nodded wordlessly as she moved around the table, picking up the copy of 'Much Ado About Nothing', the thing she had come to library for in the first place.

"Leave it," came the brusque voice of the Prince from behind, causing Belle to pause hesitantly, book still in hand. Turning to look up at the man standing by the mantelpiece, she was suddenly reminded of his towering height and the fact that he might still not wish for her to take books freely from the library, despite what he had said earlier during their conversation.

Placing the book back down where she found it, Belle turning silently away to leave, but not before the Prince abruptly turned to face her, as if he wanted to correct himself.

"You don't mind, do you?" he asked, his silhouette outlined against the fire so that it made it difficult to make out the expression on his face. "It's been a while since I read it. I'd like to take a look."

"Not at all," replied Belle with surprise as she shook her head, noting the hesitancy in the Prince's voice, a direct contrast to the curt low voice she had heard mere moments before.

Prince blinked and looked away from Belle, turning his back slightly so that she could only see his profile. He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked down at the burning fire, which was starting to ebb away.

"You are no longer indebted to me."

He spoke softly, but the impact of his words did not fail to stump Belle, leaving her looking dumbfounded as she stared at the Prince. "Our accidental meeting tonight is equivalent to the dinner you had promised me all those months ago. Your efforts towards this library are enough for me to forget about the incidents concerning your trespassing. I was in a terrible mood that night, forgive me."

Belle blinked as the clock chimed for the last time. Of all the revelations she's heard tonight, this, by far, had to be the biggest. Although she felt slightly unnerved by the fact that the Prince still remembered the dinner, Belle was nonetheless that Prince was asking _her_ to forgive _him_ for his behaviour.

"Not at all, sir," she breathed. It was odd how light her voice sounded compared to his. It was almost as if she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing.

"Losing one's father does weird things to a man," continued the Prince, seemingly oblivious to the shock Belle was feeling at that precise moment. "Even if he happened to be a monster."

The Prince finally turned to look at Belle, who was now looking at him with unashamed curiosity. As if he found the image before him amusing, the seriousness in his eyes melted away and observed her in an almost arrogant fashion.

"I think you should probably leave soon mademoiselle. It shall be light soon, and you need to sleep."

"Yes," stammered Belle as she turned to leave, looking quickly away from the Prince who was now leaning against the mantelpiece with a relaxed, rather untroubled air about him.

"Goodnight then sir."

"Goodnight, Belle."

As Belle made her way hastily across the library and further and further away from the fireplace, she found she was soon surrounded by darkness. The silence made her feel nervous, and in her mind she could still hear the Prince's voice calling her name. Opening the door to the hallway, Belle went through without looking behind her, perplexed as to how their conversation had ended without one of them raising their voices in anger. Belle half expected the Prince to appear once more behind her, having changed his mind about letting a member of staff freely roam the castle at night. As she made her way towards the East Wing staircase however, Belle knew that no such confrontation would come.

Too many things were buzzing around in her head and Belle was sure that with such an active mind she could not possibly sleep now. It was only later when she was back in her room that she realized that, in her haste, she had come back bookless, but it seemed not to matter, for her conversation with the Prince had left her so exhausted that she fell asleep almost immediately, not even taking off her nightgown as she lay on her bed.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's note: Thank you for all your responses, they were wonderful! Please forgive my lousy updating, it has been a busy couple of months. I am finding Augustin to be a very interesting character, and therefore I have decided to set this chapter in his POV. I struggled choosing between him and the Prince, but in the end, I wanted to keep the Prince's inner thoughts still a bit of mystery at this point, although I'm sure many of you picked up on more than enough in the last chapter. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this and don't forget to like, follow, favourite and review! It's always a pleasure to hear from you all about what you think of the story's progression. Happy reading everyone! ;)

Chapter 17

The previous day had been disappointing at best for Augustin. After reaching the top of the stairs, he and Cogsworth had walked through the hallways to reach the end of the western side of the castle, where the Prince's suite was situated. Upon arrival, they knocked on the door multiple times but received no answer. After a few moments of awkward silence, Cogsworth, rather begrudgingly, entered the West Wing.

Augustin, for his part, stood diligently outside as the door slid shut, dutifully waiting to be called inside. A few seconds later however, it became clear that he was not going to be invited in. The unmistakable voice of the Prince echoed off the doors and, by what Augustin could hear, he sounded fairly disgruntled, his voice rough and raw as if he had not spoken in weeks.

After a few moments of loud shouting, followed by sounds of furniture being thrown furiously about the room, Cogsworth appeared once more, hastily closing the door behind him as if he were at the zoo and had just barely managed to tame a leopard back into its cage.

"Please excuse the disruption sir," said Cogsworth quickly as he readjusted his tilted wig which now resembled that of a pigeon's nest. "It seems that the Prince does not wish to be disturbed today."

"Yes, I got that," said Augustin wryly as he was hastily led away by Cogsworth, who seemed worried, as if excepting the Prince to suddenly burst through the doors at any moment.

"He is rather upset to hear of your sudden appearance sir, but please do not be alarmed. It was entirely my mistake, not yours, that I did not inform the Prince of your visit."

"Not at all, I was half expecting it," replied Augustin, feeling very much that it was actually Cogsworth who needed to calm down rather than himself. "Adam has always been rather turbulent in nature; I intruded upon him at a wrong time. Now, I believe I should be on my way and out of your hair-"

"Not all sir!" exclaimed Cogsworth, coming to stand before Augustin, as if to prevent him from taking any steps further. "Please, take one of the guest rooms for tonight. It is much too late and although it is autumn, the evenings get very cold here. I'm sure the Prince will be in a better mood come the morning, and we can try again then."

Augustin struggled to accept the old man's offer but after glancing through the hallway window to see the gustily wind outside, he turned to face Cogsworth's pleading eyes and agreed to stay.

For the rest of the afternoon, he spent his time examining the East Wing a little further, taking sketches from the outside to try and get an idea of what parts of the castle needed to be rebuilt. He had given Cogsworth a brief outline, but Augustin wanted to know precisely the extent of the damage and try and work out whether there was anything that could be recovered.

The following morning Augustin was expecting a call from the old Head of the Household but received none. The Prince was no doubt still in a bad mood and therefore still refusing to see him. Deciding to take a little tour about the castle by himself, Augustin put on his moss green coat and stepped out of his suite into the East Wing.

Turning to the left, he surveyed the bordered-up doors which previously would have led to the far end of the wing. Now of course it was too dangerous to venture any further down the corridor. Augustin still remembered how Adam would often meet Gaston and himself just a couple doors down from his current room, playing hide and seek in the East Wing. It was where his mother resided, and they knew that she would not scold them, even if they were creating a lot of noise and running up and down the hallways. Unlike the West Wing of course, where they were never allowed to go. That was strictly the late Duke's territory.

Not that they ever actively went there. As boys, he, the Marquis, Gaston and Adam avoided that area of the castle like the plague.

Letting out a sombre sigh, Augustin turned away from the bordered-up doors, forcing his memories to fade as he made his way towards the outer corridor, which lead to the main staircase.

Turning the corner into the next corridor where he remembered the library was situated however, he was pleasantly surprised to see it was not deserted like the hallway before. Slowing down his pace, the architect looked on as a young maid was busily dusting a large portrait painting. She was standing precariously on a tall wooden ladder, trying to reach the top of the gilded frame but struggling.

No doubt sensing his presence, the short blond-haired maid lowered herself down and turned to face him.

"Claudette I don't think-"

Two brilliant emerald eyes stared at him in astonishment as Augustin felt a clump form in his throat. Coming to a stop, the young man quickly realized that he was probably the last thing she'd been expecting to see there. Flinching slightly, the girl continued to stare at Augustin as if he were a ghost, before realizing that her mouth was open.

Blushing in embarrassment, she abruptly closed it shut.

She looked like a deer caught in headlights and Augustin immediately felt a little guilty for having not said anything, but he was a little too mesmerized to be able to form coherent sentences. Which was ridiculous really, because he thought himself to be a rather charismatic sort of person. He was rarely tongue-tied, but by god, was she beautiful.

Her hair had been tied tightly behind the back of her head, which meant she was not obscured from view, but if it had been loose, Augustin was sure she would look like a princess from a fairy-tale, with her rose-bud like lips and slightly tilted nose.

"Hello," he heard himself say, feeling a little stupid as he approached her. "I'm sorry to have startled you."

The maid shook her head soundlessly before looking towards the archway he had just come through.

"Not at all sir, please forgive me for not addressing you properly."

Augustin smiled warmly as she awkwardly shifted her position on the ladder. Her voice matched her outward appearance; it was light but had a vivid presence.

"Not at all," he replied quickly as she tried to regain her balance. "I imagine it's rather difficult to hold a conversation while trying to maintain one's balance on a ladder."

"I wasn't-" retorted the nymph-like creature, just as she began to topple forwards.

"Careful!" exclaimed Augustin as he reached out to stop the ladder from falling. Although he managed to push it back against the wall, Augustin realized that, in his haste, he had failed to consider that the sudden movement would cause the girl to fall forwards.

Onto him.

As she began to scream, Augustin rushed forwards, catching her around the waist as she inevitably toppled on to him. The sudden weight caused the lean man to fall backwards as he tried to balance himself and not fall to the ground.

Realizing that they were going to converge with the wall behind, Augustin hastily moved to his side so that he would get the brunt of the impact and stop the poor girl from slamming herself against the wall.

Augustin winced as he felt the back of his head hit against the corner of one of the decorated panels and inwardly blasted the rococo design for its ridiculous twirls and uneven surfaces.

One had to excuse the architect for his lack of grace; Augustin had never found himself in the position of having to catch someone before, and unlike Gaston, as a boy he had never found much enjoyment in physical activities. This did not change even as he matured, and the only thing he truly enjoyed was horse riding, unlike Adam who liked to fence and box from time to time.

Cursing himself inwardly as he lent against the uncomfortable wall, Augustin began to regret that he did not exercise as much as he should.

"Are you alright?"

Blinking his eyes open, Augustin felt the girl slide down, her arms moving from his back down to his shoulders as she looked up at him, concern ridden in her eyes.

"Yes," gasped Augustin, even as he felt his head begin to throb.

"I'm terribly sorry, I must have squashed you," replied the maid in haste as the young man rubbed his shoulder, wincing as it ached with pain. Despite this, he quickly put on a brave face and smiled grimly at the nervous woman standing in front of him. The last thing he wanted was for her to think it was her fault or that he blamed her for what happened.

"Not at all," he replied, trying to keep his voice calm and collected. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Me?" replied the maid in astonishment. After a moment of simply staring at Augustin with what must have been the roundest eyes he had ever seen, the girl replied that she was quite alright, and that she couldn't thank him enough for saving her. Before he could get a word in sideways, she began to apologize repeatedly for her clumsiness and offered to fetch someone to immediately tend for him.

"That won't be necessary, really, I'm sorry I caused all this disruption to your work," said Augustin. "Please do not feel as if this was your fault."

He was not actually lying. Augustin could already feel the pain lifting as he stared wide-eyed into her beautiful green eyes, which, in comparison, were looking at him very doubtfully.

"Well, if you're sure sir-"

"Good morning!"

Augustin turned around as he heard the vaguely familiar voice. A young, brown-haired woman was walking spritly towards them, and, upon seeing him, faltered slightly as she furrowed her eyebrows, no doubt wondering, just as the maid did, why he was standing there.

"Belle," said Augustin, immediately recognizing her from the day before when he'd noticed her shuffling about in the herb garden. "How nice to see you again."

"Good morning sir," replied Belle slowly, her voice sounding perplexed as she gave a deep curtsy. "I did not know you were going to be staying at the castle."

"A sudden change of plans, mademoiselle, meant I had to prolong my stay," said Augustin as he smiled broadly at her. "I was meant to meet the Prince yesterday, but it seems I came at a bad time. Monsieur Cogsworth invited me to stay for the night."

"Oh!" exclaimed Belle as she let out what could only be described as a sigh of relief. "When we met yesterday I was little concerned because of the guards who were chasing you from behind."

"Chasing?" gasped a little voice from behind, and Augustin turned slightly to the dove-like creature behind him. Giving into temptation, he proceeded to give her a private little smirk before replying.

"I'm afraid I came without notice and they mistook me for a trespasser," he replied as she looked nervously up at him, as if suddenly reminded of the fact that speaking without provocation was strictly against the rules.

"We are terribly sorry for the inconvenience we caused you sir," said Belle, regrettably turning his attentions away from the enchanting figure standing unassumingly behind him.

"Do not apologize mademoiselle, it was not your fault," replied Augustin as he turned to face the newcomer, noting that despite his casual manner, the young librarian had remained keenly aware that they were of completely different social status. "I should not have galloped away as I did perhaps, but I found the experience altogether rather exhilarating and could not resist. If not for your help, who knows what could have happened."

No doubt the clever girl had caught on that he was teasing, for she proceeded to smile most amicably. Unlike yesterday, she was not dishevelled, and had her hair tied loosely behind her back. Despite her neat appearance, she gave off the air of somebody who lived in a carefree sort of way. Well, Augustin guessed as much, judging by the boots she was wearing.

"You mentioned that you are an architect sir. Did you manage to examine the East Wing in the end?" asked Belle, and Augustin noted that she seemed far more relaxed than before.

"Yes, I did," he replied, moving to the side as he did not wish to exclude the enchanting lady standing behind him from the conversation. "However, I actually have a more important reason for coming here. Forgive my brash behaviour yesterday, I did not have a chance to introduce myself properly. It may surprise you a little mademoiselle, but the Prince and I have actually been acquainted for some time, in fact since our childhood. My name is-"

"Augustin Mansart," whispered the maid, who now stood beside him, but still kept a certain amount of distance between them.

Augustin looked towards her with surprise as she stared at him with what could only be described as sudden recognition.

"Do I know you?" he asked, intrigued but also puzzled, because he could not fathom how he could have missed seeing such a pretty girl on the grounds. On the other hand, it was strange that a simple maid should know his name, as he had only reconnected with the Prince a few months before the ball in early spring. In general, he was used to nobody taking much notice of him when he was mingling among those of the upper classes, so he found it hard to believe that any staff would be gossiping about someone who was not part of the nobility.

"No," replied the maid after a moment of hesitancy. "But I remember seeing you sometimes playing with the Prince in the gardens."

She sounded wistful, almost sombre as she stared at him.

"Playing?" repeated Augustine, blinking his eyes as he stared at the girl. Clearly, she wasn't talking about the present but of the past, when he was just a boy, but she would have been too young to be a maid…

"It was a long time ago," she replied hastily, shifting her eyes nervously towards Belle, whom Augustin had once again completely forgotten about. "When you were both still children. My mother worked here at the time and I was allowed to remain on the proviso that I would eventually work as well."

"I did not know that you had been here for such a long time Marie," said Belle. "And I did not realize sir that you were a close friend of the Prince's."

"I guess you find it quite astonishing that he should have any friends at all," replied Augustin as he turned to grin at the gobsmacked librarian. Despite his quick-witted response, Augustin was still stunted from the fact that Marie, what an apt name, had known him for such a long time.

"No sir," stuttered Belle, her eyes widening in horror in response to Augustin's question, despite the fact it was pretty clear he had been teasing her. "I did not mean it that way, it's just that…"

"It seems highly out of character for the Prince to be able to hold on to friendship for so long?" finished Augustin, his dark eyes gleaming in the morning sunlight which was beginning to stream through the windows. "I apologize mademoiselle, I tease you too much but it is true. Most people where the exact same expression that you currently do whenever I mention my association with him. You have nothing to be ashamed of, it is a perfectly natural response, although I never tell him that."

Belle stared at Augustin in an almost puzzled manner before shaking her head.

"Well," she began with difficultly, "if you insist then yes, I must admit that I find it a little surprising. You seem very friendly and open sir, and his lordship seems very, well, distant and closed off from the world, especially right now."

Augustin blinked, slightly surprised this strange woman had taken a completely different stance on the subject. Most were surprised due to the fact that he and the Prince were clearly of completely different rank in society, and while Augustin had joked that it was their characters that seemed so jarring together, Belle had sincerely thought so.

Smiling inwardly, Augustin began see why the Prince seemed to hold such fascination over the unique girl. Happy that Belle had finally spoken in honest terms, the architect turned his attentions back towards Marie, who had discretely moved away from his side a few moments before and was now silently clearing up the work she had been doing beforehand, pulling herself out of the conversation.

"Mademoiselle Marie," said Augustin, his voice causing the girl to visibly freeze in response, her back turned towards him. "If you don't mind me asking, you said you remember seeing me as a boy. That's an awfully long time ago and I wonder why you have decided to remain here all this time."

"Well," she hesitantly, turning her head slightly to look up at him with those mesmerizing green eyes which never seemed to fail to make him feel a little lightheaded. "My mother sir was Mrs Potts' sister, and after she died, I was allowed to stay here. Since then, Mrs Potts has become something of a surrogate mother to me and that is the reason I have decided to remain."

As Augustine felt her sonorous voice seep into his ears, he longed to hold her attention even if just for a few seconds longer. Just as long as she was looking at him and no one else…

Yet Augustin felt strangely vulnerable, as if he would shatter to pieces if he were to catch her eye suddenly without warning. By god, what was happening to him?!

"So, this is very much like home to you, isn't it?" he nevertheless said gently, immediately alarmed as his voice sounded much too soft and caressing in context to the conversation. "That is, it would be very hard for you to leave this place."

"Yes sir," replied the housemaid quietly as she continued to clear things away before standing up. "I care very much about my work here. Speaking of which, I really must return to my duties."

Augustin frowned slightly, sensing that she had become a little closed off compared to before. As he tried to interpret her sudden coldness, Marie walked towards Belle and quickly curtsied before her.

"There's no need to do that Marie, we are colleagues," said Belle gently, shaking her hands in protest but Marie ignored her exclaims.

"If it is alright with you miss, I would like to start cleaning the entrance to the library," she began, her voice clear and no longer hesitant like before. "I hope not to get in your way, but if you prefer I can start later?"

"Not at all Marie, please do as you please," replied Belle, a little surprised by the abrupt change in conversation. "You won't get in my way, I promise."

"Thank you miss," replied Marie, giving Belle a genuinely warm and grateful smile before turning towards Augustin.

As soon as their eyes met, there was a sudden shift in the air.

Well, at least Augustin felt it like a ton of bricks.

"Monsieur Mansart, it was a pleasure to meet you," said the wondrous creature, bowing deeply before struggling to meet his gaze again. "Thank you once again for.. for earlier."

"Not at all mademoiselle, it was my pleasure," replied Augustin hastily, feeling instant shame wash over him as he heard his words falling clumsily one on top of the other.

After giving Augustin a tentative smile, Marie moved swiftly away and disappeared down the long corridor, quickly fading from view. Staring at her retreating figure, Augustin was completely unaware that the librarian was quietly observing him.

"Marie is very nice," said Belle, snapping Augustin's attention back towards her. She was doing her best not to smile too broadly but the architect could tell he had betrayed his interest towards the maid.

"Yes, she seems very nice," he replied somewhat begrudgingly as he cleared his throat. "A hard-worker I think."

"When I first arrived here she helped me immensely, even though she really had no reason to," said Belle, smiling warmly. "She was very kind, a trait that unfortunately one does not encounter or appreciate often enough."

"Yes, indeed," replied Augustin as he stared intently at Belle, his previous embarrassment turning into intrigue. This girl had an inward sort of intelligence and was clearly very perceptive about what went on around her. He recognized too that she did not openly boast about it as some are prone to do. He had only ever encountered one other individual who had this certain quality…

"Do you speak with the Prince often mademoiselle?"

"What?" exclaimed Belle, raising her eyebrows as she looked up at Augustin in alarm.

Satisfied, the architect smiled as he folded his hands behind his back and shifted his weight between his feet while he waited for her to continue. He had successfully caught her off guard.

"Well, er, not often sir, but when I do encounter him," continued Belle, her voice a little stilted as if she had momentarily lost the power of speech.

"Tell me, do you think he will be awake if I go up to see him now?" inquired Augustin, unable to resist teasing the source of the Prince's current fascination just a little longer.

"If you…" repeated Belle, her voice fading as she processed Augustine's words.

After a moment's silence, her eyes widened in horror.

"Oh sir, I couldn't possibly know but to turn up without prior invitation- he is very temperamental and-"

"Well since you seem to know him so well, perhaps you could accompany me to the West Wing," interrupted Augustine, his voice once again as smooth as the summer wind. "It will look better that way, at least, a lot better than if I simply went and knocked on his door."

"But sir," protested Belle as she grabbed hold of the side of her skirt and stepped forward towards Augustin, "I am not allowed in the West Wing, and, well, why don't I go ask Cogsworth or Lumiere to-"

"In my experience, His Highness has never really listened to them nor cared a wit what they have had to say. Sending them will simply annoy him. No, I think the best chance I have is if you come with me."

Augustin waited patiently as Belle fought the internal conflict inside of her. Most people would be worried of taking up on the offer mostly out of fear of what the Prince might do, but Augustin sensed that with this peculiar creature, that was not entirely the case. No, something else was on her mind.

Nothing that her inner struggle was not going to cease, he spoke once more, this time in a much sincerer fashion, losing the teasing manner he had held moments before.

"Let me put it this way mademoiselle," he began gently, leaning against the side of the window pane as he folded his hands together. "You would be doing me an enormous favour and should things go pear shaped, I will bear the brunt of the blame. I can promise you that."

"That, is precisely what I am afraid will happen sir."

Raising his eyebrows, Augustin could not help but scoff in response to the comment. No wonder the Prince was so tormented; this girl had the power to tear him to pieces with a single retort of overflowing empathy.

He began to doubt whether she would indeed help him, but despite her initial hesitancy, Belle did accept Augustin's request. She had clearly noticed he genuinely wanted to meet the Prince, despite his light, teasing demeanour, and that he was not going to leave until he had met the Duke at least once.

When they arrived at the West Wing, Augustin knew Belle was nervous. Beginning to feel a little guilty about the tense situation he had placed her in, the architect stepped forward and knocked on the door, making sure that he would be the first to speak to the Prince, even though he doubted the young Duke would come to open the doors. As the seconds turned into minutes, Augustin turned to Belle's side and spoke a few words of reassurance.

Yet unlike the day before, the door abruptly opened just as he finished speaking, and the two flinched in response to the sudden movement.

One ought to mention at this particular juncture that while Belle's initial response to the Prince's visible changes had been that of surprise, for Augustin, it was something that was altogether of a more sorrowful nature. The Prince's haggard expression, the rags which he now sported and his long mane of hair, coupled with the common drunkard-like beard, only forced Augustin to confirm within his mind what had been for a long time his worst fears.

Even so, he was utterly gobsmacked to see his friend, who had always been so pristine and presentable when it came to his outer appearance, now looking completely disheveled, as if he were now living like a common beggar on the street.

Despite the many times Augustin had been witness to his diabolical behaviour, Adam had always maintained a sense of grandeur and nobility, an unmistakable sort of elegance which one would normally associate with a leopard or a panther. Yet as Augustin stared at the wretched man now, his blue eyes glinting threateningly through the darkness, he could see no trace of it.

He understood why Belle and Cogsworth had been so utterly terrified to come here. This was like being in service to a beast.

Watching his friend with an inquisitive eye, Augustin watched as Adam's gaze shifted irritably from the door frame towards the person was now stood in front of him. His eyes widened for a second and his body froze with his hand still gripping the door handle.

To Augustin's surprise, Adam's face began to redden as the figure he was gazing at took a grave step forward.

"Sir I-"

Just as she began to speak, Adam's eyes shifted towards Augustin who was standing next to her. As their eyes locked, Augustin could not help but smile as a way to diffuse the tension. Despite his transformation, Augustin still missed his friend after all.

After a moment's silence however, the Prince's eyes turned to glare at him, and after giving Belle a furious look, he turned to slam the door. Before he could close it however, to Augustin's astonishment, Belle proceeded to slam her foot in between the door.

"What do you think you are doing?!" said the Prince hoarsely, and Augustin noted that his voice was indeed changed as he had suspected the day before. His friend had clearly been drinking heavily for the past couple of months.

"Sir!" exclaimed Belle as she pushed the door handle, nearly stumbling as she tried to maintain her balance. "He has come a long way to get here."

"Let go of the door," growled the Prince, gritting his teeth as Belle stared at him through the crack in the door. "I cannot believe you had the gall to come up here when you know perfectly well that it is forbidden to do so. What's more you have brought that oaf with you. Did Cogsworth put you up to this? Who sent you?"

Augustin looked down at the ground, waiting for Belle to tell the truth.

"Nobody sir, I sent myself. I heard that yesterday your friend, Monsieur Mansart, had trouble speaking with you. I only wanted to-"

"He is no friend of mine and what's more it is none of your business," interrupted the Prince as Augustin stared at Belle in shock. He had been expecting her to lie because nobody who was as good as her would not lie. Yet here she was, refusing to tell Adam that he had put her up to this. Not wishing for the Prince to unjustly release his rage upon her, Augustin stepped towards the door to speak.

"You can't scare me away Adam after only a few brief squabbles. I was merely putting you in your place at the time because you had begun to sprout nonsense."

"How dare you speak to me after I sent you out of this castle!" retorted the Prince, his figure hidden in the shadows as Augustin shifted to try and see through the door. "Have you come to scorn and jeer at my fall my grace, to exclaim how joyous and satisfactory it was to see me be 'put in my place'?"

"You didn't send me away Adam, if you remember, I left," replied Augustin carefully as he shook his head incredulously. "But I'm here now, as your friend. I want to help."

The Prince did not reply immediately, instead still staring at them through the darkness. Augustin noticed that his gaze lingered on Belle in an almost cautious manner, as if he did not want her to see him too clearly.

"Leave me in peace Mansart, there is nothing you can do for me," he replied as his blue eyes shifted back towards Augustin, who came to face him directly. Belle's hands loosened their grip on the door handle, noting that the Prince's voice had shifted, no longer sounding as angry as he had done before.

Augustin gulped as he shifted his weight. There was something broken about the way Adam spoke. He wasn't just upset about what had happened in Paris, how society had shunned him. There was something more going on here, he had been wounded.

Perhaps permanently.

As the architect had always feared, he did not wish Adam to turn into his father, but if he kept going as he was now, that would become the inevitable conclusion. As he opened his mouth to speak, hoping to reach out to the Prince as best he could, somebody else cut to the chase.

"Sir, I believe Monsieur Augustin has examined the East Wing and wishes to discuss with you-" began Belle, trying to sound as hopeful as possible, but the Prince immediately turned away from them. Augustin felt his shoulders sag in defeat.

"There is nothing to discuss-"

"Sir, please."

Augustin blinked as he stared down at Belle in astonishment, who had taken a step forward and was now half inside the doorway. Her voice had become instantly vulnerable, not loud, not pleading but somehow.. Intimate. Although he could not see the expression on the young girl's face, he could just about make out the Prince's.

"Just five minutes sir, that's all."

It was the eyes that gave it away. Adam's expression had always tended to be cynical, closed-off, almost disinterested, but right now he was as far away from that as one could be. Looking almost hesitant, he stared down at Belle with a mixture of fear and fascination, as if for a brief second he had been transported somewhere else and forgotten where he was. The blue in his eyes didn't seem so cold now.

Augustin smiled at the silent exchange, and the stirring moment ended, with the Prince's expression into that of scowl of annoyance as he let go of the handle and retreated back into the wing.

Despite not saying a world, the architect knew that Adam had relented and was allowing him into the West Wing.

Turning rapidly, Belle looked up towards Augustin in disbelief.

"Erm, sir, it seems you can I enter, I think," she blabbered as she opened the door and gestured for Augustin to go in.

"Yes, it does seem that way," said Augustin, a smirk appearing on his face. "I told you mademoiselle, I knew it would work."

Frowning slightly, Belle shook away his comment as if it confused her.

"You must be someone who is very close to the Prince sir, otherwise he would not have allowed you in," she replied curtly, her gaze becoming guarded as Augustin continued to smile at her knowingly, as if he knew something she didn't.

"Oh, I don't know about that," replied Augustin, trying to sound nonchalant. "I could very easily say the same thing about you mademoiselle."

Before Belle had anytime to respond, Augustin swiftly entered the West Wing, leaving her gobsmacked as she quickly closed the door and turned away, hastening her way down the hallway as she tried to not think about the way the Prince had looked at her through the darkness, his eyes glinting ever so slightly.


	18. Chapter 18

Author's note: Rather short this time, but I thought I would post this now, rather than leave it till later. Hope you enjoy it! Don't forget to like, follow and let me know what you think. Happy reading everyone!

Chapter 18

Gaston and LeFou stopped walking just a couple of feet away from the shabby pub appropriately named 'The Three Old Ravens'. By the looks of it there not much to entertain, and as Gaston stared grimly at the faded sign above the door, LeFou began to regret his decision in following his friend to the dismal place. If he could have had his way, which, it should be noted, he most decidedly could not, LeFou would have turned around straight away and gone right back to Villeneuve as quickly as possible.

"Why have we come all the way out here Gaston? The tavern back home seems much more welcoming than this… well wherever we are," mumbled LeFou as they began to walk again, passing several beggars who sat limply by the side of the muddy road.

"How many times do I have to tell you LeFou," grunted Gaston as he swung his rifle behind his back and approached the tavern door. "We had to meet somewhere quiet, where we wouldn't be overheard."

"Yes, I know, but you won't even tell me _who_ it is we are actually meeting," replied LeFou feebly as he and Gaston entered the tavern. LeFou wiped the dirt off his boots as he went in, although he noted that his companion did not bother.

"Never mind that, you'll find out soon enough," said Gaston hoarsely as he slowly paced into the small slum of a place.

It was, as LeFou had suspected, almost entirely deserted, except for the old bartender and a strange loner who was lurking in the shadows. He seemed to be sitting up against a mouldy wall at the far end of the tavern and puffing on a large cigar. Incredibly dark inside, the establishment was lit with only a few candles which made its appearance seem that much more decrepit, as if to suggest that it had been long forgotten as a place for social gatherings and had not been taken care of for a considerable amount of time.

The old bartender, who stood by the dusty counter, merely nodded his head exhaustively as the two men passed by him before returning to work on wiping the glass in his shaky hand. LeFou stared worriedly at his new, horrible surroundings as he nervously followed Gaston further into the tavern.

The wind howled outside as Gaston came closer towards the lone figure surrounded by swirling smoke, giving him an almost ghostly illusion.

"So, you came," said the man, his tone rather light compared to his ominous appearance.

Gaston smiled, albeit without showing his teeth, before sitting down opposite the stranger, leaving LeFou to remain awkwardly standing by himself.

"Of course," said Gaston carefully, as he waved towards the bartender and gestured for a beer.

"After what happened, I presumed you were no longer interested in seeing me," replied the man as he folded his hands and placed them on the rickety table, revealing a ruby of substantial size resting on one of his fingers.

The dark cloak and hood which obscured his face made it nearly impossible for LeFou to discern what this man looked like, let alone guess as to who he was. Judging by his voice however, one could tell he was a gentleman and a surprisingly young one at that.

"This is important," replied Gaston slowly as he lent across the table, wounding his right hand tightly into a fist, "and there is no obstacle too great that will stop me from getting what I want."

"Well I can certainly agree with that," scoffed the man before taking another puff from his cigar. His relaxed manner bore such a striking contrast to Gaston's tense form that LeFou began to feel nervous that discourse might break out before too long.

"I see you brought a 'friend' with you?"

"This is LeFou," said Gaston gruffly, as if his companion were a mere after-thought. "You need not concern yourself, his lips are sealed. If he bothers you, I can send him away."

"There is no need," replied the man swiftly, "I trust your judgment. Even so, I am rather surprised you still asked for my aid. After all, the scheme which you devised didn't exactly work out for _you_."

"On the contrary," replied Gaston eagerly as the old bartender placed a large tankard of beer on the unstable table before shuffling away, "it did not fail sir. Yes, it did not work as well as it should have, but it created impact and planted doubt in the old man's head and for now that will do. Despite what you think, I have a certain amount of patience. As long as I get what I want-"

The hooded man lifted his hand nonchalantly to stop Gaston's speech. In most cases, this action would have earned one a good punch in the jaw by the proud soldier, but to LeFou's astonishment, Gaston stops speaking and waited, as if genuinely eager to hear what the odd man had to say.

"Speaking of what _I_ want," interrupted said stranger, coming out of the shadows and closer towards Gaston, finally casting his face in the candlelight, "The 'incident' worked out well for me. When I first reached out to you, I thought your idea was positively mad, but now, having seen the consequences, I have to admit I am rather satisfied with the Prince's demise. No one will want him now and that is how it should be."

"I hope you are not too satisfied," replied Gaston in dissatisfaction as he took a long swing from his tankard. "It is not over yet, dear Marquis."

LeFou swerved his attentions away from Gaston and towards their acquaintance, and saw a slightly plump man staring back at the soldier with a smug smirk on his face, his blue eyes glinting in an almost cunning manner. Under his cloak, LeFou saw he was, in fact, very smartly dressed.

"Of course not," he replied smoothly in an eerily calm manner. "I heard that you did not manage to make Maurice lure his daughter back to Villeneuve, which is why I was surprised to receive your message. Terrible pity... It would have served both you and me very well if she had."

"Yes, but I'm afraid things are rarely simple with that family," snarled Gaston as he glared at the Marquis, who looked much too content with himself. "Our initial plan was not enough. Besides, I know I cannot drag her away from that god forsaken place because she is under their employment now."

"No matter," replied the aristocrat lightly, "we shall think of other means. Besides, thanks to our efforts, the Prince is now overflowing with debt. By the spring, he will have no choice but to let more of his staff go. That will be your chance."

"Yes, but then there is the matter of D'Arque to think of," replied Gaston darkly as LeFou began to shift his feet at the mention of the name.

The Marquis paused.

"Yes," he replied rather begrudgingly after a moment, "he is a problem. Have you noticed any change?"

"None," said Gaston as he gripped his tankard as if he wanted to break the handle. "He does not live in the village and is constantly moving about, which makes it hard to keep tabs on him. The man is a mystery I cannot work out."

"But he still comes?"

"Yes, and very often," said Gaston exasperatedly as he leaned back into his chair, betraying the first signs of fatigue, a rare sight to be seen of the soldier. "I know he's observing Maurice's house, as if to check and see if anyone comes to visit the old man. Have you discovered anything?"

"Nothing," replied the Marquis, the smug expression on his face sliding slightly. "I'm afraid when it comes to paupers, there is very little to go by. Yet I remain as surprised as I was many moons ago when you first told me about what you had heard. One hears of this sort of thing happening from time to time, but… You seemed very sure, and I still believe you. The information all adds up, we only need confirmation now. That is, unfortunately, the hard part. There is very little record of them. Are you sure it was Paris?"

"Yes, I am sure," replied Gaston quietly as he stared blankly at the wall behind the Marquis, as if he were thinking of something terribly important.

"He's been watching them for quite some time now, hasn't he? After all, it was shortly after you first suspected him that you decided to set your sights on Belle, isn't that so?"

"Indeed," replied Gaston rather proudly as a smirk appeared on his face, not unlike that of the Marquis. "If she hadn't been sent to the castle, I might have succeeded."

"I see," murmured the Marquis as he puffed on his cigar once more. "And after that proposal of yours did not go as swimmingly as you had hoped and she was taken away, you found me in your tavern."

"All of which, most astonishingly, occurred within the space of one night. A strange stroke of both misfortune and luck," added Gaston as he turned towards LeFou. "Get me another, will you?"

As LeFou left quickly to go to the counter, Gaston turned his attentions back to the Marquis.

"For both of us," finished the Marquis as he sat back into his seat. "I was busy trying to find, well, you know what, because I knew the old man was dying. In the end though, we wanted and still want the same thing. I will ask again, only because I think this might take a little longer than you anticipate my friend, but do I have your confidence Gaston?"

Gaston's gaze turned to steel, and his coal black eyes shifted slightly before he replied.

"If you do not trust me dear Marquis, why don't you question D'Arque about it?"

The Marquis blinked in response before his eyes widened.

" _That_ is actually not such a bad idea. He does not know about my acquaintance with you. There would be very little he would suspect."

The conversation became instantly heated as LeFou returned with two tankards filled with beer and placed them on the table.

"Still, it is risky," said Gaston hoarsely as stared at LeFou in annoyance. "The last thing we want is exposure. It would backfire everything we have worked for. As much as I admire your brashness Marquis, one that I must admit is not unlike my own, it will not help. No, I think it best for now if you visit the castle and find out what Belle is up to. I'm sure that after the fire, she must be feeling terrified and very much alone. You could remind her of Villeneuve and her father. Yes... that might work well."

"Very well," replied the Marquis as he raised his eyebrows nonchalantly and stood up. "However, in return I would like to speak to D'Arque first. I will see what I can find out."

"Fine," said Gaston through gritted teeth as he glared at the dark-haired aristocrat. "Just keep in mind sir, that while you are doubting my convictions, there is a race against time going on here. Someone, at some point, is going to find out the truth. So, we'd better make sure that it is us before anyone else."

The Marquis nodded solemnly and turned to walk towards the door. Just as he was about to leave however, he shifted his feet and looked back at Gaston with intrigue in his eyes.

"Are you not worried that while she is in the castle, she remains in danger of falling into the Prince's grasp?"

Gaston's facial expression turned to that of sarcasm and he lent against his chair, staring at the Marquis with disappointment as if he had been expecting better from the gentlemen.

"Our friend, the dear Prince, will have very little interest in her I am sure because he is, as we both know, the biggest snob in France, and she is a mere servant. And even if he were to take interest, all the more good it does for us, because it will push Belle to leave."

"What if she were to take an interest in him?" replied the Marquis, the tone of his voice rather nebulous. His face was hidden in the darkness and it was once more impossible to discern his expression.

Gaston replied without hesitation.

"How could you ever suggest such a thing? She would never take an interest in him. I might not have a castle, at least, not right now, but I can say that I will at least take care of Belle. What would he do? He's the spitting image of his father, and we both know that man was nothing less than a monster. You won't be finding my wife at the bottom of the stairs like a crumpled heap of an animal carcass, that's for sure."

"You still remember that?" replied the Marquis in surprise.

"How could I not?" said Gaston incredulously as he began to smile maliciously. "You and I both can guess what really happened. Mark my words, the Prince will turn out just like his father, if he hasn't already. A cold-blooded monster."

LeFou, who had remained silent throughout this entirely exchange, swivelled his gaze nervously towards the Marquis, who proceeded to shrug his shoulders before putting on his gloves.

"Very well," grunted the gentleman as he turned to open the door. "Till next time, Gaston. Hopefully by then I shall have more information. Oh, and perhaps we could choose somewhere less, er, well, somewhere a little more _refined_ for our next meeting?"

And with that, Marquis departed, leaving a slightly troubled LeFou who had no idea what had just occurred and a rather disgruntled Gaston in the decrepit tavern, mulling over the future and what their next steps should be.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Paris is not for the faint-hearted.

The last piece of advice the Prince ever received from his father, and it turned out to be the only one which was true.

When the young man had first stepped away from his future estate grounds and had begun to discover society outside the castle walls, Paris immediately became the destination he was most interested in visiting.

A sordid place, he had often heard it be called by those of certain rank who followed the example of the late King who avoided the city at all costs, but while the future Duke had sceptically acknowledged his father's words, he was aware there was plenty about the teeming city which he would find both intriguing and hard to resist. Yes, he knew it was all folly and of no substance, but that did not stop him from indulging and enjoying the various pleasures the great city had to offer.

The Palais-Royal of course, was the centre of it all and indeed remained the melting pot for all aristocrats who wished to be in the spotlight. It was an exclusive hub, only for those select few who could either afford to be there or were lucky enough to be well connected. So much had happened in that dazzling place during the Prince's adolescence that he had presumed, rather naively, that it would never change and that its doors would always remain open to him.

Looking through the chilled glass to observe the grounds below, the Prince scoffed sarcastically as he recalled his misplaced sense of optimism. As he skewered his clear blue eyes to get a better look of his estate, he noted the sign of upkeep visibly decreasing. The unrelenting reality of his debt was beginning to show, for the hedges were uneven and the green was patchy. Frost was starting to form on the grass and as the weary Prince lowered his forehead onto the cold window he inwardly admitted himself rather dejectedly that winter was definitely on its way.

Turning away from the dismal sight before him, the young Duke wrapped his robe tightly around himself before dragging his feet slowly across the wing, ignoring the fact that the stone floor felt bitingly cold beneath his bare feet.

" _I cannot believe you would dare show your face here-"_

Slumping into one of the chairs by the large portrait of his family, the Prince poured himself a drink from the lone flask lying on the floor. Craning his head, the bearded man stared up at the face of his father. The knife he had lodged into the centre of the canvas still remained exactly where he had left it all those months ago, right in the middle of his father's chest.

" _You know how much I enjoy having you here but given your current circumstances-"_

" _The Duke of_ _Orléan_ _s? Oh, I'm afraid he has refused an audience with you-"_

Turning his head, the Prince frowned as he heard footsteps coming from outside the West Wing.

" _His finest clothes are already out of date, he has no place here-"_

" _Apparently his estate is in shambles-"_

Taking a gulp of the nameless liquid in his hands, the Prince let out a groan as he turned his loose his hand into a fist and tried to block out the noise coming from just beyond the door.

" _His father was a monster; do you know what happened with his late wife-"_

" _His son is just as bad, if not worse, beast of a man-"_

"Shut up!" bellowed the Prince, throwing the crystal in his right hand at the wall opposite, sending the delicate object flying against the unmoving panel and causing it to splinter into a thousand tiny shards.

Heaving heavily, the Prince squeezed his eyes shut as he struggled to slow down his uneven heartbeat. Their whispers and faces followed him everywhere, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not escape it. The only exception was the night before, when he was rudely interrupted during his calming ritual in the library, when….

It was at this moment of despair and vulnerability that the one person he absolutely did not want to expose himself to, arrived at the door.

And no, he did not refer to Augustin Mansart.

Having been mulling over his thoughts the entire morning, the Duke hardly had any time to process what was happening when he turned towards the doors in agitation. After a flurry of events, he unwittingly found himself staring at his old acquaintance just as he heard the doors close behind him.

"She's gone I'm afraid," spoke the architect plainly as the Prince stared at him, painfully aware that he probably wore an uncharacteristically confused expression on his face.

Augustin Mansart was leaning against the archway of the West Wing with his arms folded neatly across his chest. It should be noted that he was smiling too. Rather smugly.

Swerving his attentions away from Augustin and instead towards the refreshment table, the Prince struggled to hide his disappointment in Belle's sudden absence and made a poor attempt in not answering his close confidant's question. As he poured himself another drink, Augustin thankfully spoke once more.

"At first, I was concerned about your hermit existence here but it appears that, quite the contrary, you have plenty to keep yourself occupied with. An intriguing woman, to say the least. You should know that I pestered her to bring me here, so if you have any complaints you may direct them towards me, Adam, and not her."

Though slightly surprised by the direction of their conversation, and also by the use of his first name, the Prince begrudgingly met Augustin's light gaze even though he did appreciate his flippant commentary.

"Ever the graceful gentleman I see," he replied gruffly as he sat back down on his green velvet chair, aggrieved to hear the difference between his sandpaper-like voice and Augustin's smooth one. "What do you want?"

"Getting straight to the point," said Augustin sarcastically, and when the Prince remained stubbornly silent, he continued awkwardly, much to the Duke's comfort.

"Well, to start off with, why didn't you answer any of my letters."

"You were asking questions for which you bloody well knew the answers for," answered the Prince swiftly, sliding his gaze back towards the windows by the dusty balcony. "I'm sure you've heard about what happened in Paris."

The Duke noted the pause and hesitation before Augustin formed an answer.

"Yes, I heard about that. I'm sorry."

Feeling frustration rise within himself, the young Prince turned to glare at the architect as he rose slightly in his chair. He hated the sight of pity; it made him want to burn the rest of East Wing down just to prove how little he cared about any of it.

"What have you to be sorry for?" he spitted out despite knowing how juvenile he must sound.

"They should have congratulated you Adam," replied Augustin slowly, his warm gaze cautious as he stepped towards his old friend. "They should have rewarded you for your bravery and what you did that night. They might not see it this way but, I'm proud of you. You helped save this castle."

The Prince stared at the dark-haired man for several seconds before his gaze drifted away. Sinking back into his seat, Adam considered Augustin's statement.

"It doesn't matter," he replied plainly after a moment, hearing the hollowness in his voice perfectly reflect the way he felt inside.

"How could it not matter?" reacted Augustin almost immediately, stepping towards him swiftly, as if he had said something absurd.

"This castle…" spoke the Prince softly, not meeting the architect's alarmed gaze, "it is tainted, just like my family name. There is no going back. Those people, they were just waiting for someone to fall, to suffer from an _epic_ fall. And they wanted to be there to witness it. It is a form of entertainment at court which even I cannot fault. A concept I guess you could never be able to comprehend."

The Duke felt the architect's incredulity through his dumb silence and pitied him. Augustin was still so oblivious to the true monstrosity of the system he was part of and which he embraced so whole-heartedly, even though the consequences of a slight misstep were so fatal. As he waited for Augustin's response, the young Prince realized why he had been ignoring his letters. Secretly he envied him.

"Adam, they shunned you only because you lost a fortune, which I might add, in large part was due to your father's irresponsibility when he left you nothing but this castle and a hoard of debt which he quite deliberately decided to tell you nothing about."

As Augustin spoke these scathing words, he pulled up a lone chair from across the sparse room and slammed it directly down in front of the Prince, who remained stoically slouched in his seat staring blindly at the amber liquid in the bottle he was twirling methodically in his right hand.

"My father," replied the Prince absentmindedly. "Oh, yes, my father. You know, in Paris, they usually didn't care about what you did, so long as you had your fortune and titles. As for scandal, well, there was plenty of it but nobody ever batted an eyelid. While I was there however, something rather ugly began to be whispered about in the ballrooms and social circles."

When Augustin did not reply, the Prince lifted his gaze and stared at his counterpart hard, anger starting to build inside himself again as he observed his 'friend' suddenly stare down at the cold floor, very much like every debutante he passed by during his last stay in Paris.

"You already know about it of course," drawled the drunk aristocrat as Augustin begrudgingly met his gaze, the moss green of his eyes nebulous and muted. "My mother…"

The Prince watched with satisfaction as Augustin's eyes widened in alarm at the mention of the deceased Duchess and also as he tried in vain to hide his astonishment.

"They're right, of course," continued the Prince, refusing to give his friend time to say anything. "He was a monstrous figure and in a way, I feel satisfied in that they see him finally for what he really was."

"Adam, somebody has clearly been sprouting poisonous words," retorted Augustin, his voice cautionary. "Trying to taint your reputation. Not many people know, heck, even we don't really know-"

" _I_ know," growled the Prince as he sat up and gripped the upholstery, revealing the white of his knuckles. "I know exactly what happened. As do you. Anyway, my reputation was already tainted to begin with. The sins of my father were hardly going to stain what was already soaked to the brim in grime. Given my physical resemblance to the man, I suppose it only natural that they all think I am no better. The real cause for it however is not my reputation but the dwindling fortune; _that_ is the true reason for their sudden disapproval of me."

Augustin's lack of response caused the Prince to look up impatiently but he immediately saw that it was not mere embarrassment which was preventing his friend from speaking.

"I see," continued the Prince slowly, nodding his head in conclusion as he gave the young man a rather savage smile. He had caught the meaning of his silence. "You have heard more, the very worst of it."

"Adam, you must know I do not believe you capable-"

"But you considered it, didn't you?" snarled the Prince, lunging up from his seat to tower over his old friend, who shrank slightly in his seat.

"I'm sorry," said Augustin hoarsely, "about what I said that night. I stepped over the line. But you must believe me when I say I do not believe that you would ever commit such atrocities."

"But you were right, weren't you?" retorted the Duke, his eyes turning into slits. "Look at me now. I knew my father would not fail to ruin my life even after death. You told me once that I ought to marry soon, and now, well, it appears your judgement was true. No woman of respectability would ever be my bride now. They may not be able to prove anything and they will probably never take away my Dukedom, but I currently have about as much credibility as the common beggars who live off scraps in the streets of Villeneuve!"

"Adam," sighed Augustin, sinking into his seat as he shook his head with regret in his eyes, "even if you had succeeded to marrying that would not have guaranteed your happiness."

The Prince frowned in response. Satisfied with his friend's clear fatigue with the conversation, he moved back into his seat by his family portrait.

"What does happiness have to do with anything," he muttered, ignoring Augustin's incredulousness as he poured himself another drink from the decanter. "Besides, I'm starting to think they were right about me."

Augustin abruptly stood up and paced towards the Prince, a sombre expression on his face. His gaze lingered on the empty bottles surrounding the cold fireplace.

"Adam," he begun, his voice rather stern. "I want you to listen to me very carefully. You are nothing like your father, you just keep trying to convince yourself that you are, although heaven knows why. And as for what they think, what does it matter? Who cares about society? I don't understand the way you've been moping around here for months on end. Why do you care so much about what they think? What's it to you?"

"It's easy for you to say," replied the Prince calmly, hardly surprised at Augustin's lack of understanding. "You can afford to worm your way through any part of this world without having to worry about the consequences. Whereas I am chained to this god forsaken castle for eternity because it is all I have. All I can _ever_ have."

The finality of his statement left the Prince satisfied as he proceeded to stare nonchalantly away from Augustin, ignoring his intense glare.

"I refuse to believe that Adam," replied the architect rigidly after a few moments. "I refuse to believe that is how you truly feel either. Perhaps you have not seen all that life has to offer yet. Paris is not the centre of the world and neither is Versailles."

The Duke had not expected his former friend to continue on so stubbornly upon such a moot point on a subject not even worth discussing in the first place. So, he was left with nothing else to do other than to stubbornly ignore the man until he gave up and left. Much to the Prince's dismay however, Augustin carried on.

"I'll tell you one way you are different from your father. The late Duke would never have been friends with likes of me. He would never have stuck up for me as you have, time and time again."

"I was stupid for acting so impulsively and punching Gaston," replied the Prince softly, finding it easy to dismantle Augustin's argument. "My father would have blamed you for what had happened to my hands. He would have beat you. I was a stupid boy; what I did was dangerous."

"He couldn't have known and Gaston was much too cowardly then to speak of it to the Duke."

"If my father had seen my hands he would have asked. And if I hadn't given the proper reply, he would have eventually beaten it out of me."

"You were stronger than that Adam, even as a boy," retorted Augustin eagerly, as if trying to shine some light upon the subject and feeling as if he had a chance in succeeding. "Not to mention cleverer than any of us. I remember seeing you silently folding your hands behind your back for two weeks and not uttering a single word whenever we passed by him in the corridors."

The Prince didn't say anything, not wishing to either prove or disprove what Mansart had just said. Turning away from Augustin and slouching back in his chair, the Prince raised his eyebrows as if he found the conversation to be a bore. He knew he could not shift Augustin's thinking, so he merely waited for the young man to give up on the subject.

Unfortunately, he moved on to something just as uncomfortable for the Prince to openly discuss.

"The girl, does _she_ make you happy?"

Adam blinked as the words hit him like stones thrown against the sides of a windowpane.

"I don't want to talk about her," he replied reluctantly, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible as he felt Augustin begin to pace towards him once more.

Thankfully his former confidant did not pursue the matter any further but the Prince knew the observant architect was far from fooled. Even though he did not so much as move a muscle, Adam felt his cheeks burning and his eyes moving about somewhat nervously. Annoyingly his friend was known to not miss a trick and the Prince knew he was noticing his sudden change in attitude.

"I would like you help you Adam, if you'll allow me to get a word in sideways," said Augustin lightly as he looked down at the Prince thoughtfully. His eyes landed on the empty decanter rolling miserably on the floor beside him.

"Perhaps we could start with a little fresh air?"

…

Belle was glad to hear the young architect had managed to reconnect with the Prince. Or, as the architect allegedly put it later, converse with an old friend without it turning into a contest of who could bellow the loudest. From what Mrs Potts had told her, he was to remain at the castle for at least a couple days. While it was none of Belle's business, she knew the staff were inwardly letting out a sigh of relief, glad that someone had finally come to pull the Prince out of the darkness of the West Wing.

Nevertheless, Belle was puzzled by the fact that this seemingly wholesome man had been so eager to rejuvenate his friendship with the Prince. She was still finding it difficult to understand how someone as good-natured as he could possibly be friends with the gloomy and cynical Prince. The truth alluded her and she suspected she would never figure out why, mostly because of course it did not concern her in the slightest. Yet as she had left the West Wing that morning, she could not help but feel the gnawing sense of curiosity eat up inside her as she wondered what they were conversing about.

As Belle attempted to sleep that night, she found that despite her best efforts, it was all in vain. She still suffered from sleepless nights, but she was finding recently that it was becoming harder and harder to avoid thinking about things that were indeed troubling her.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she got up from her bed, threw on her nightgown and robe before lighting a candle and stepping outside of her room into the narrow corridor of the servant's quarters. She did not want to risk another visit to the library after what happened the other night, not that she feared the Prince but nevertheless, meeting him at this hour would not be in her best interests. So instead of turning left towards the spiral staircase which lead the landing above, she turned right towards the creaky door which lead to the grounds outside. Perhaps a little fresh air was all she needed to clear her mind of troubling thoughts.

Opening the door as quietly as she could, Belle let out a little gasp as the cold winter air hit her face. Luckily it was the full moon that night and with the moonlight streaming down from the sky it made it easier for Belle to navigate herself across the frosty grass towards the gardens.

As she put her hands into the pockets of her coat, Belle realized something was crinkling inside. Pulling out a piece of parchment, Belle opened it up to realize it was a letter from her father, sent a couple weeks before. Squinting, she peered at the familiar scribbles of her parent as she walked past the rose gardens, towards the edge of the grounds.

 _My dearest Belle,_

 _Thank you for your letter, it is reassuring to hear from you again. I miss you every day and cannot wait until you come home._

 _As for me, please do not worry. Right now, I find myself enjoying the marketplace more than I ever did before. The chaplain, in particular, has been most kind and we have spent many a night drinking in the tavern along with Monsieur D'Arque who sometimes visits the village._

 _From what I have heard, you are very busy these days with the sheer amount of work you must go through on a day to day basis; I understand that nearly half the staff working at the castle have been sent away. I cannot help but feel sorry for how much responsibility I have put on your shoulders. You do not know how it pains me. Only know that I will always be here awaiting your return – remember that you always have a home to come back to._

 _Thinking of you always,_

 _Your dear Papa_

Belle sighed as she read the last line. She was glad to see it was not smudged, which meant that her father had been relatively happy when he had written this letter to her. She remembered how during the first few months she had stayed at the castle, her father's letters were covered with tear marks, which had troubled her excessively. Despite her prodding however, he had always insisted in his letters that he was fine.

It was the primary reason why Belle was finding it increasingly hard to sleep at night. She longed to be with her father again, except that there was the glaring problem of their debt situation which she desperately needed to resolve. She dared not ask Cogsworth how much longer it would take her to pay back all their debts, partially because she felt a little embarrassed to do so, but also because she feared what his answer would be. Sometimes it was safer to remain ignorant and get on with what needed to be done.

The wind began to pick up as Belle lifted her hood to block the cold air from seeping in around her bare neck. Walking slowly towards the very border of the castle grounds, Belle began to wonder whether she would ever be able to see the snowy mountains surrounding Villeneuve during Christmas, her favourite time of year. She suspected not.

The border of the grounds consisted of iron railings which rose to about ten feet tall, seemingly continuing on forever, endlessly curving around the castle and cutting off just before the thick forest beyond, which was pitch black due to all the shade the trees gave the forest floor. Unlike the main and side entrances to the castle, there were never any lamps lit around this part of the grounds, partially because of the lack of money but also because hardly anyone ever ventured that far from the castle. It had to be said however that it was one of the most peaceful parts of the estate.

Belle knew of the wolves who frequented the woods but she was told, most assuredly by the staff, that she would be save as long as she never went outside the border.

As the young woman walked alongside the railing, gently gliding her fingers against the cold metal, she thought of the Prince, his disregard for his servants and his transformation. What trauma he had experienced while in Paris she did not know, but whatever it was, it surely had been something beyond anything she could possibly imagine and that was really saying something. The contradicting feelings she had towards the Prince were troubling at best; she pitied him but also could not understand why he did not seek to make his situation, and therefore the situation of those around him, better. Partially she condemned him for his current habit of excessive drinking and seclusion from the world but her image of him had changed, especially after their conversation together in the library. Perhaps he had always been this way but had simply managed to hide it successfully from the world.

When she had first seen him in that ballroom all those months ago, she had supposed him to be a proud, selfish and egotistical man who felt himself to be the centre of the universe. In truth, she had assumed he did not have a care in the world, at least, that is how he had presented himself. She knew now however, that her initial assessment of him was wrong. He was a sad creature and although Belle was deprived of many things the Prince took for granted, she at least had the most important thing one could wish for; love. The Prince, on the other hand, had such twisted ideas when it came to subject of human connection that she wondered whether he would ever be able to feel or at least recognise true compassion and kindness when he saw it.

Regrettably, as he was now, she very much doubted it. He was a stubborn man, stuck in his ways and she knew there was very little anybody around him could do. Which was why she had immense respect for Augustin Mansart, who seemed to be holding out hope.

As Belle continued to ruminate, she felt her hand loosen its hold on her father's letter, which went swirling through the cold night air, only to slide through the railing on to the damp ground just a bit beyond the border.

Rushing forward in haste, Belle knelt down on the damp ground and pushed her hand through the black railing. Luckily her hands were so tiny she had little difficulty, and she heard herself let out a sigh of relief as she grasped the letter.

"What are you doing here?"

Belle let out a shriek and turned around, twisting her hand and hitting it against the railing in the process, causing her wince and cry out in pain. As she looked up her eyes widened.

The Prince was glaring down at her through the darkness, his cape billowing in the wind as the black steed he rode prominently stomped its right hoof on the ground in agitation.


	20. Chapter 20

Author's note: Some of you will be frustrated with this chapter because it won't be what you expected it to be…. I PROMISE the next one will be coming very VERY soon, much sooner than per usual! In the meantime, I hope you guys enjoy this for what it is worth. Don't forget to like, follow and leave a comment to let me know what you think, it's always great to hear from you. Happy reading everyone!

Chapter 20

Belle had never appreciated the use of the word 'phantom' to describe the Prince. It seemed far too ridiculous a word to use for someone who was still very much alive. Staring at him now however, with his dark silhouette towering over her against the moonlight streaming behind his back, she could think of no better description.

"Have you gone deaf mademoiselle? I asked you a question!"

Belle shirked away as the Prince snarled, not out of fear, but because she was still recovering from his sudden appearance and was ill prepared to respond. Without giving an immediate answer, she hastily began to pull her trapped wrist through the black railing behind, her father's letter in hand.

"I- I was just," stammered Belle as she got up, but the Prince interjected immediately. Judging by his tone, it was out of impatience.

"Trying to run away?"

Belle's movements stilled as she looked up in astonishment. His eyes glinted in the dark, his voice almost dull and lifeless in nature. Although she couldn't see his face, she sensed the Prince was not angry, but instead rather bitter. She had not enough time to process why this was the case, for she quickly dismissed the thought, assuming it to be an inaccurate observation on her part, based on poor hearing. The horse the Duke rode continued to stomp its hooves nervously on the ground, as if it feared what lay beyond the castle borders.

Stepping forward in hopes of rectifying the situation, Belle opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a creature not too far away howling through the night air. Its haunting voice echoed across the wooded thicket as the breeze picked up speed and grew an ominous voice of its own.

"We can't stay here," said the Prince hoarsely as he turned his horse around, his eyes alert as he looked beyond the border towards the dark woods, which stood like silent observers, just barely hidden from them but disturbingly present.

"Sir, I think you're overreac-"

"Hurry up and get on."

"Sir?" exclaimed Belle, her eyes widening as the Prince came closer, looking thoroughly unamused. Even with his untamed appearance, he retained his authoritative nature, his voice both seemingly blunt and sharp at the same time. Whenever he spoke this way, it never ceased to make Belle feel a boiling sense of anger rise within herself. If left unchecked, she feared the consequences for the Prince's sake. The servants may have talked of his supposedly notorious ferocity but it was next to nothing compared to hers, on the rare occasion when she truly lost her temper.

"Stop grumbling and get on!"

Belle did not realize she had been stalling, standing stoically by the horse and not responding to the Prince's orders.

Without a word of warning, the bearish man reached down and grabbed hold of Belle's arm, attempting to pull her up onto the horse as the wind continued to blow ferociously around them. As the creature in the distance abruptly howled again, the Prince shifted on his steed and looked down at Belle in exasperation.

"Will you please, for once in your godforsaken life, not argue and just do as you're told?"

Belle weighed her options as she felt the Prince's grip on her forearm tighten. Evidently, he has sensed her hesitation. She felt a humongous urge to rip her arm away from him and tell him to leave her very well alone, but given the Prince's agitated state and complete lack of smugness, she knew he only spoke so roughly because she had, perhaps rather recklessly, decided to go outside alone in the middle of the night, far too close towards the woods. As the creature howled once more, Belle turned to look briefly towards the woods.

Wolves.

She could tell, not because she saw them physically, but rather because their eyes were glinting in the moonlight, betraying their presence. Evidently the Prince had noticed this too, due to Belle's sudden stillness.

"Belle, get on the horse now," he said very gently.

The woman in question did not need telling twice. The wolves did not come any closer; they did not show themselves, but Belle knew they were there.

As soon as she was abroad, the Duke turned his steed around towards the castle.

"Now hold on tight, I don't want you falling off from behind."

Belle gingerly put her hands around the Prince's cloaked back as they began to gallop through the grounds, past the outer borders, past the gigantic maze, past the fountains and rose gardens.

Throughout their journey neither spoke a word, but Belle could tell the Prince was angry because of the tension she felt through his back.

She was glad they could not see one another or she would have felt they had lost all sense of propriety. Having never been in such close proximity to the Prince since she first met him, Belle found herself mildly surprised by his modest state of dress. The fabric he wore was thin, which made Belle question why he was wandering around the grounds in such attire when it was clearly a freezing cold night. Even so, she felt his warmth acutely due to the freezing cold wind, which she tried her best to shield herself from. Strangely however, she did not shirk away or feel any sort of danger, even though she imagined being so close to the dreaded man, especially after their first encounter, would have left her trembling, if not in fear then at least apprehension. Now however, with her arms around his waist, Belle left oddly secure, as if she could trust him, even if just for this moment, despite the fact that he no doubt thought she had been attempting to run away.

Turning a corner, they finally reached the main path which lead up to the castle, and Belle tried her best to think of some suitable answer to his question, which she had still not answered.

As they reached the main entrance, with its doubled staircase hidden in the dark due to the lamps not being lit, it began to patter with rain. The Prince leapt off the horse fluidly and pulled it, along with Belle, quickly towards the stables, where it was at least partially warm and lit properly.

Once inside, the Duke wordlessly turned towards Belle, his eyes not quite meeting her gaze as he lifted his arms, gesturing to help her off the horse.

"I am perfectly capable of dismounting by myself, thank you," said Belle stiffly, although she couldn't quite understand why she was so hesitant when just moments before she had been pressing the side of her face to his back.

The Prince's eyes, which had remained rather dormant since they had reached the castle, suddenly flared up in anger as he glared at Belle.

The young woman braced herself for some onslaught of words.

Yet in the end the Duke said very little, despite what his outside appearance suggested.

"Suit yourself," he grunted as he turned his attentions towards the horse, and proceeded to sort out it's reins.

While dismounting the horse, Belle looked on in interest as the Prince began to murmur something to the four-legged creature and took out a carrot from his side-pocket.

"There you go Destiny, I'm sorry wake you in the middle of the night."

Belle began to twist the edge of her coat as she stood awkwardly in the middle of the stables, staring curiously at the Prince as he patted the horse gently.

"You should go," he said, without turning around. "It is late and you must rest."

"Yes, sir," replied Belle, not knowing what else to say. Little as possible seemed preferable then. "I am terribly sorry for inconveniencing you this evening Your Highness, it shall not happen again."

The Prince stilled in his movements as he turned his head slightly towards Belle so she could partially see his profile. Due to the dimness of the lamps, it was hard to make out his expression.

"Don't ever go near the borders again. That is all I shall say on the matter for tonight, I am too tired to speak any more of it."

As Belle began to bow in response, the Prince spoke once more. This time his voice sounded a little like he had done out in the grounds.

"We will talk about this matter further tomorrow, mademoiselle."

Belle blinked in response as the Prince turned his attentions back to the horse and began to methodically brush its coat. Noting that the conversation was now seemingly over, Belle quickly exited the stables, pacing slowly backwards before turning and making her way swiftly back towards the servant's entrance on the side of the castle.

Every encounter Belle had had with the Prince seemed to leave her close to having a panic attack, or something similar. Yet this time it was his stillness, the strange control of his voice, which concerned her far more than any anger he had ever displayed towards her in their entire acquaintance. She dreaded to think about how their conversation the following day was going to proceed.

…

Marie was eavesdropping.

A common occurrence, those amongst the servants would say, but Marie in general preferred not to stick her head in other people's business. That morning however, as she was dusting the china vases displayed around the entrance hall to the West Wing, she heard voices coming from inside, gradually rising in volume. One voice in particular drew her attention because the maid immediately recognized it to belong to none other than Belle.

Marie told herself it was out of concern for her friend she entered the West Wing and tried to find the source of the commotion. As she made her way down the long corridor, the young woman quickly deduced the noise it came from the Prince's quarters, where the doors remained firmly shut.

Leaning slightly towards the said doors, Marie gulped as she caught snippets of conversation. Things had seemed to have calmed down considerably since she had got there, for she only heard mutterings and soon silence, so Marie let out a sigh of relief and stepped away.

"I see now why the aristocrats keep battering on that the maids know everything."

Marie flinched, immediately realising the voice came not from inside the West Wing but rather from directly behind her.

Turning around at great speed, the young maid gasped as she came face to face with Augustin Mansart, a man whom she felt the most unease with amongst all in the castle, including the Prince, which was really saying something.

He wore very much similar clothing to what he'd had on the day before, which made Marie narrow her eyes as she took in his appearance. The man seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with the colour green, a colour she did not particularly like but it seemed to suit him very well.

You had to be a certain type of person to pull off such a shade. Unassuming, graceful perhaps, with a certain elegance.

A certain untrustworthiness too.

In response to her rather guarded expression, Augustin Mansart smirked, as if he had found some hidden amusement in her appearance. This only made Marie crinkle her brow harder.

Of course, Augustin Mansart was no stranger to Marie. She'd known him years and years ago, but she was perfectly aware she had not really know him; not known then nor now what his true nature was.

Adjusting her posture, Marie did her best to seem as nonchalant as possible, for she did not wish to be the butt of some perverse joke. Noting her change in stance, the young man mirrored her slightly by staring at her in a serene fashion.

She was cautious, that was all. She had to be, given her station.

Just because she had been enchanted by him as a child did not mean he was the same as he once was. He wasn't a child anymore.

As Augustin smiled at Marie, or rather, grinned at her in a rather disarming fashion, the young maid silently agreed with her own ruminating thoughts. Her last true memory of him was when he had visited the castle and had accidentally ended up coming through the servant's entrance, where she had been playing with her dolls. He had been trying to escape from a tutor, who had been teaching him and the Prince during one afternoon when their fathers had had business to attend to. Instead of turning away, Augustin had sat down and joined Marie as they hid away, playing her little game of make-believe till her mother had discovered them hours later, very upset because the entire castle had been searching for the young boy. The man standing in front of her clearly did not remember this, not that she would expect him to, but she still remembered how he had patted her head as he stood up to leave and given her the same playful smile he was giving her right now. She was never to speak to him again.

The only certain thing she could say at this point, was that he was no longer that round faced, gentle-eyed boy she'd met all those years ago.

"You were snooping," said Augustin, his voice sly as he took a few steps forward, his hands folded behind his back.

"I was not," retorted Marie immediately, contorting her face into that of outrage, until she realised, due to Augustin's amused expression, that he was teasing her. She sagged her shoulders in disappointment and shook her head.

"I'm sorry, I tease you too much," replied Augustin, although he did not seem sorry at all. "It's just that you look awfully becoming when you're angry, just as I suspected you would be."

"You should not toy with other people's emotions sir, it never bodes well," said Marie coolly as she pursed her lips.

"Yet you find it perfectly acceptable to eavesdrop on private squabbles where such conversations are taking place."

Marie hesitated before replying and her response became that of a more enquiring nature, as she tried to steer the conversation to her advantage.

"How do you know which two persons are conversing within the wing sir?"

"It is not hard to make out," replied Augustin quietly as he stepped not towards her, but instead towards the window on the left side of the hall. As he leant against the windowsill, Marie noted the sombre quality to his voice, despite the fact that he wore a benign smile on his face.

"You heard from down the corridor?" inquired Marie, relaxing slightly as Augustin stared at the portrait painting of the Prince's great grandfather on the opposite side of the hall.

"How could one not!" he replied rather joyfully but still retaining that strange form of melancholy. "Adam has always had a powerful voice, one of such commanding, ducal of a nature... when he wishes it to be so of course."

Marie continued to stare at Augustin in a guarded fashion but she could not deny her curiosity had peaked. Becoming a little curious as to how he would reply, she asked whether he knew who the other person in the room might be.

Augustin smiled wryly as his posture turned languid, turning his attentions back to Marie, much to her discomfort.

"I think we both know the answer to that question mademoiselle. I would not stand so close to that door, for you might hear something perhaps a little… improper for your pretty little ears," he said softly as he stood up and came slowly towards the Marie, who was now staring at him with an alarmed expression on her face.

"I do not appreciate your tone, sir," she replied hoarsely as she took one cautious step away from Augustin, "Belle is not that sort of person, she is a respectable young lady and should the Prince dare to-"

"My, my, I was not expecting this!" exclaimed Augustin as he came even closer, maintaining his act of benign innocence, though his eyes implied something much more untoward. "You defend the lady, though your sudden passion actually betrays that I am not too far from the truth."

"How dare you!" retorted Marie, this time stepping forwards, looking at Augustin directly in the eye. "You do not know how hard it is to survive as a woman in this world! Belle is the most intelligent person within my acquaintance and she would never allow herself to be used in such a manner! You tease sir, about things that should not be teased about!"

Marie took several deep breaths as she waited for her thoughts to catch up to her emotions. She could not quite comprehend why she had let herself get so carried away on a matter that had little to do with her personally, but somehow Augustin had struck a chord within her. Looking up cautiously, she could already feel another bout of anger rising within herself as she imagined wiping the amused expression, which he now undoubtedly sported, clean off his face.

Her breath caught as her gaze connected with his.

He was a lot closer than she had previously anticipated and silent as he looked down at her, his dark gaze not displaying a single hint of amusement.

"I-" stammered Marie, her voice faint as she felt for the door behind her with a loose hand. "I didn't mean to offend the Prince, I just-"

"I'm sorry," whispered Augustin quietly as he looked away and then up again, giving a hesitant sideways glance, "I didn't realize what I said might upset you. Please forgive me."

The young maid blinked as she looked at the architect, not knowing quite what to say.

"You don't need to say anything," replied Augustin, giving Marie a nervous smile, as if he had somehow read her thoughts. "I was careless, not thinking about your position. I'm afraid we men are prone to doing that sometimes."

Marie let out a haggard breath as Augustin looked up at her hesitantly.

"Nevertheless, I should not have shouted at you sir," said Marie in response, having finally found her voice again. "It is just- I am cautious and I do not think Belle would ever accept such advances from the Prince. So if he were ever to-"

Augustin lifted his hand silently, a serious expression on his face, utterly transforming him from the shallow-like adolescent of before into that of a mature man.

"You must have heard quite a deal about the Prince over the years," said Augustin, his voice soft but firm. "I must warn you however, that it is ill-advisable to believe in gossip. Adam is not quite what people paint him to be, and I can assure you he would never harm Belle. He is not that sort of man, despite what proof there is to makes him seem that way."

Marie took a moment to absorb Augustin's words before replying, but just as she opened her mouth to speak, somebody interrupted them.

"I see you've wasted no time in enjoying all that this castle has to offer dear Augustin!"

Turning his cane towards the two figures, the Marquis waltzed silently into view, watching lazily as Augustin deftly turned to face his old friend.

"Well this is a surprise," uttered Augustin playfully, immediately changing his posture back to the seemingly callous young man Marie recognized from before.

"I decided to pay our dear friend a little visit," replied the Marquis as he stepped forward, perfectly aware of the maid standing nervously behind the architect. "I haven't seen him since Paris."

"He has told me quite a lot about what happened while he was there," said Augustin, his voice neutral but Marie detected a slight note of disapproval in his voice.

"Yes, tragic, what happened over there," sighed the Marquis, placing his cane on the side of the window pane and taking off his elaborate travelling coat. "Not much that could be done about it. You know how ruthless our society can be."

Augustin did not reply immediately, which gave the Marquis time to step to the side and make eye contact with Marie. She did not like his gaze; something spiked in her, as if she instinctively knew she should not trust this man. There was a distinct lack of warmth in his eyes, which made her suddenly feel quite cold.

"Why hello there," he said slowly, giving her a strange smile, "you must be one of the maids. Good choice Augustin, she's one of the prettier ones. Is she your new play thing?"

"Don't be ridiculous Armand," muttered Augustin as the Marquis de Bayon proceeded to laugh.

"Not worth your time?" scoffed the odious aristocrat as he rubbed his brow and gestured for Marie to come closer. Unable to reject the order, the young maid stepped forward.

"My, you really are a vision, aren't you? No wonder the Duke has decided to keep you around," muttered the Marquis as he lifted his hand towards her face.

"That's enough," said Augustin sharply as he had seemingly out of nowhere from behind and pushed the Marquis away gently but with some inner force, as if to warn him.

Marie, caught behind, felt his hand holding her upper back in a protective manner as the Marquis stumbled.

"Why are you being so defensive over that rat of a thing?" he spluttered, pointing at the maid unceremoniously. "I bet the creature can't even read."

"You're drunk Armand," said Augustin bluntly as Marie felt her temperature rise once more. His voice sounded much more present than before as she stood next to him and she could felt the warmth of his hand, which seemed to give her some strange feeling of comfort.

"No more drunk than the Prince I bet," replied the Marquis as he regained balance and stared at the two of them sardonically. "If you'd already marked her as your own, you only had to say Mansart."

Marie felt tears starting to form as she tried to look away. She hated that she did not have a thicker skin. Perhaps it was because Augustin was taking pity on her, that the awful situation was causing her to crumble inwardly.

"You should rest before you see the Prince," replied Augustin, ignoring the Marquis' comments. "You're not in a fit state to see him right now."

The Marquis sighed before turning to pick up his cane by the windowsill.

"I suppose you are right," he muttered, just as Lumiere and Mrs Potts appeared from behind, moving swiftly down the passageway towards them.

"My, my, my, what a congregation!" exclaimed Lumiere as Augustin turned to look at Marie with concern. She turned her face away so he did not see the tears which were on the verge of falling down her cheeks.

"Dear Marquis, we did not know you wished to see the Prince so soon," continued Lumiere as he bowed before the aristocrat who merely waved his hand, dismissing the gesture immediately.

"Take me to my rooms please," he slurred in an exhaustive manner before glancing towards Augustin and Marie. "I will see you later in the evening, dear Mansart, if you are not otherwise engaged."

As Augustin stood rigid to the floor, glaring heatedly at the two men as they left, Mrs Potts approached Marie and, immediately noticing she was in no fit state, turned her away from the remaining guest and asked whether she was in good health.

Meeting Mrs Potts concerned gaze, Marie replied she was well but in want of returning to the servant's quarters because she needed to get prepared for work in the kitchens during supper.

Nodding her head silently, Mrs Potts sent Marie on her way before turning to look at Augustin in a cool manner, as he in turn stared at Marie's retreating figure, inwardly cursing himself for not doing more to protect her. Part of him knew she had turned her head away because he had done nothing to stop the Marquis from disrespecting her and he would never forgive himself for that.

"I do not know what occurred here exactly dear sir, but I do believe you are not blame," said Mrs Potts softly, causing Augustin to turn his attentions to the Head of Staff in alarm.

Mrs Potts smiled warmly in response, noting the man clearly had felt concerned for Marie, judging by the way he stood protectively in front of her, almost shielding her from the drunk Marquis' gaze.

"But my staff, particularly my maids, are a lot stronger than they look," continued Mrs Potts, seeking to reassure the young man.

"They shouldn't have to be," replied Augustin curtly, his voice so hard it caused Mrs Potts to blink her eyes rapidly in surprise. "If you will excuse me, Madame, I am not quite myself."

With that, Augustin quickly withdrew, leaving Mrs Potts by herself, standing in front of the doors to the West Wing. Shaking her head, the old lady let out a ragged sigh before turning towards the entrance.

Why had they all been standing here? Surely if they had been causing so much noise, the Prince would have noticed by now?

Knocking on the double doors, Mrs Potts called for the Prince but received no reply. Although others would have given up at such a juncture, the brave woman persevered and opened the door, stepping inside the West Wing.

As she walked inside and examined the Wing however, she found no trace of the Prince or any others persons.


	21. Chapter 21

Authors note: So... I was halfway through this chapter, had it all planned out, but then I realised that it didn't work. This happens quite a lot, I write something, then rewrite it, and sometimes I just scrap the entire thing when I think it's not right and that is essentially what happened here with this chapter, so apologises for the delay! It's also one of the longest I think that I have written and I am also abroad right now, so that is another excuse for my tardiness. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Think of it as the beginning of the second movement of a three-part symphony (yes, I know we are only that far into the story haha). As always, like, follow and comment, hopefully the following instalment to this will come soon, probably around the end of this month, so stay tuned, and happy reading everyone!

Chapter 21

Belle sat rigidly in her chair as the Prince continued to pace right and left across the balcony. She tried her best not to shiver while waiting with gritted teeth for the arrogant man to finally turn and face her properly.

She wanted this, whatever 'this' was, to be over with quickly; for her to receive whatever scornful words the Prince wished her to accept, before retreating back to the safety of the kitchen quarters downstairs in swift fashion.

Their exchange, however, had been an odd one thus far.

Coming into the West Wing itself had not been such a taxing experience for Belle, for Mrs Potts had come down promptly the very next morning to announce in a calm and measured manner, that the Prince was requesting her immediate presence in his quarters.

Belle did not let her heart sink at hearing this news; she had been expecting it. Waking up early, she had guessed, quite rightly, that although the Prince never left his room, he was almost always awake, which meant she could be called upon at any time of day, be it mere hours after their previous encounter.

While following Mrs Potts up to the West Wing, Belle noticed acutely that the Head of Staff was saying very little, but it was clear from the tension between the two women and the stern look on Mrs Potts' face, that the mature, older one of the two was at least a little aware of what had transpired the night before. Whether she felt disapproval towards Belle or the Prince, the young woman could not tell, but she guessed it was directed towards them both, for their equally reckless behaviour.

"He is waiting for you," was the last thing the disconcerted lady said to Belle before opening the double doors slowly and gesturing for her to enter inside.

Much like the last time they had spoken to each other, Belle heard the Prince long before she ever saw him. He stood at the very end of his quarters within the balcony, staring out towards the grounds, his back turned to her. His figure was so still that, if Belle had not recognised him, she would have mistaken him for a statue.

As it was, the Duke said very little, pointing towards a single, overtly decorated golden chair, placed right in the middle of the dim balcony. As Belle approached the Prince, the light surrounding her became dimer and she felt a shiver run down her spine as her own footsteps echoed quietly off the cold marble floor.

Winter was approaching, which meant it was getting darker and darker by the day, so this early in the morning, the castle was still hidden in darkness and the grounds were covered in frost. Although the balcony was covered in crystal glass, giving it almost the appearance of a greenhouse, it was still bitterly cold, and the sun had not yet broken across the horizon. As such, Belle could not make out the Prince's exact movements, but she nevertheless sat down dutifully, folding her hands into her lap before waiting, with shivered breath, for supposedly the Duke's next words.

If she felt any guilt about what had happened the night before, it was long gone by the time Belle sat in that chair. The young woman had spent the entire previous night justifying her actions well enough so that should the Prince accuse her of doing anything beyond logical reason, she would be able to answer him promptly and shut down any foolishness he might subject her to admit to.

So far however, thought Belle as she continued to stare at 'said' Prince, a man who was still pacing up and down in front of the crystal double doors like an unruly lion, he had said very little, giving her only a brief, withering look of irritation before turning his back on her again and staring moodily out towards the grounds below.

If Belle had not been so occupied with trying to deduce how their conversation was to proceed, she would have realised the Prince was, in fact, nervous. Alas, the only thing she assumed from his strange behaviour was that he was angry with her and still a little drunk from whatever he had consumed in the early morning after their brief confrontation. He had not changed his clothes, not even taking off the long-tattered cloak she'd held on to when they had travelled back to the castle the night before.

After several minutes of excruciating silence, the Prince finally turned to face Belle, the irritable expression still very much intact. He looked tired, the skin under his eyes dark and sallow-looking, as if he had not slept a wink. This, at least, he had in common with Belle.

"I don't need to explain to you why your behaviour last night was extremely foolish," he began. "You are intelligent enough to know."

His voice was rough and coarse, which strangely put Belle at ease. It gave him a tangible sense of vulnerability, which had been otherwise absent when she had known him prior to the fire. He observed Belle precariously through the dim candlelight, as if she were some wild, unstable creature, the irony of which was not missed by Belle. His hair was wiry, half obscuring his face and his sharp blue gaze reminded her of the glittering eyes of the wolf from the night before.

"Why did you not alert the guards?"

Belle blinked as the Prince's scathing voice brought her back to the present dilemma at hand. It was not the question she had been expecting.

"I was having trouble sleeping sir, which is why I came outside. It was the full moon so the grounds were brightly lit and-"

"Then why in God's name didn't you take someone with you?" interrupted the Prince, his voice worn out and exasperated, as if he were talking to a child. "Or better yet, why did you not go to the library? Isn't that what you always do…"

Belle would have retorted back immediately but something about his countenance made her hesitate. He had spoken with a certain sense of defeatism, as if he could be bothered to argue with her, but also, strangely, melancholy. He had his back turned towards her but only halfway, with his hand on his hip and the other pinching the bridge of his nose, as if he were suffering from some excruciatingly painful migraine.

Not knowing what to think of his sudden change in attitude, Belle did her best to ignore it and answer his question.

"I needed some fresh air sir," she replied, horrified to hear the lack of conviction in her voice.

"Fresh air," repeated the Duke slowly, as if he needed time to fully register her meaning. He remained turned away from her.

"It is not as if you were any different sir," continued Belle, wishing to progress their exchange, but her voice came out sounding petty. "You were outside, just like me!"

"It's different with me!" said the Prince hoarsely, sharply manoeuvring himself to glare down at Belle but in doing so, revealing the unhinged look on his face, which only caused her to look up at him with alarm.

"Sir I-" began Belle again but the Prince interrupted her once more.

"I am the master of this castle!" he snarled, coming slightly closer towards her, nearly putting his hand on her chair but then stopping, as if he did not trust himself. "You do realise there were wolves out there? You could have been killed last night if I had not been there to protect you!"

"Protect me?" repeated Belle after a stunning moment of silence, her voice taking on a sharper edge as her eyes narrowed, matching the Prince's icy coldness. "I did not need your protection sir, because there was no danger. There were never any wolves within the grounds as far as I recall!"

"You and I both know we heard a pack of them pass very close by," said the Prince, his blue eyes glinting precariously through the near darkness. "You were close enough to the border, and I know you were about to pass through those loose rails, don't deny it!"

Belle gasped in response to the Duke's bitter accusations. As she stared up at him, she wondered about what he was really implying.

Blinking down at the floor in her seat, she turned to lift her head high.

Did he really think her to have such low principles?

"I dropped a letter just outside the railing sir," replied Belle, her voice shaking from the blood blooding inside of her, "that is all-"

"You cannot excuse your behaviour and I will certainly not excuse those who fail to keep a closer eye on the woods effectively!"

The Prince's voice echoed off the walls of the West Wing, slowly dying as each second passed by. Yet Belle could still hear his scornful words long after they had disappeared into the morning mist and she sat speechless as the meaning behind the his powerful outburst slowly started to take shape in her mind.

"What exactly," she started, the wheels in her head turning, "do you mean by that?"

The Prince blinked, seemingly startled by her quiet response and also realizing that he had let something slip. His posture turned hard and rigid as he took a step back, his face half in shadow.

"Forget I said anything, it is immaterial to this discussion."

Belle could do nothing but stare in response to such a bloodless reply and knew at once she had exposed something the Prince wanted to remain hidden.

"Someone must pay as a consequence for what happened last night," he continued as Belle gave no response. His voice would have sounded resolute and commanding to most but to Belle's ears it sounded false. Yet she was surprised he had revealed as much to her, though she had said nothing.

"What have you done?" she asked bluntly, refusing to revert her gaze, although he continued to look to the side in a stoic but distant manner. Throughout their encounters, he had always been the one to question her thoroughly beyond reason. Belle felt it only fair now to ask him some cutting queries of her own.

The disgruntled man took his time, hesitating before giving a reply, immediately noticing a change within Belle's voice. His gaze transformed as a result and he took on an even more guarded expression than before. Though it was hard to tell because of his beard, Belle was sure he had his mouth turned into that of a grimace.

"The guard who was supposed to be patrolling that area of the woods just beyond the gates, was found wandering about in the early hours of the morning," explained the Prince, his voice pedantic, as if he were almost disappointed by the turn of their volatile conversation. "He was completely unaware of the predicament he had left in us last night, despite the fact that it was his duty to know you were there by the very edge of the woods."

"One man?" uttered Belle slowly, hardly believing her ears.

The Prince looked at her with frustration, seemingly resentful of her rather hollow reaction. Gritting his teeth, he turned roughly away from Belle, his eyes reflecting for the first time something other than mere cold passivity. When he did not respond promptly, Belle decided to prod him further.

"One man was supposed to patrol that entire area?" she continued, her gaze following the Duke's figure as he began to pace again around the balcony, his billowing robe trailing after him like ominous fog which never truly settles during a cold winter's morning.

"The point, Belle, is that he failed to perform his job successfully," replied the Prince after a moment of careful thinking but it was glaringly obvious that he lacked conviction. "As a result of his unprofessionalism, he put yo- he put us in danger!"

He had come closer towards Belle during his shaky outburst, leaving the young woman to see his expression much clearer than before.

There was a time when she would have been terrified by the power of his voice, his ominous silhouette in the near darkness, his unmistakably blue eyes unflinching as they peered down at her, without any hint of feeling.

Belle sat still in her chair, her hands still folded in her lap. Her eyebrows shifted slightly as she heard the Prince stumble through his words and she thought back to when he used to speak eloquently, his voice like velvet, tightly controlled and unwavering. This wild, unkempt man before her may have appeared much more threatening than the gleaming Prince of before, but for some reason Belle concluded, quite bravely, that he presented much more bark than actual bite.

"Where is he?" she asked calmly as the Prince breathed heavily in and out, seeming not to fully register her quiet words.

"That is none of your concern," he replied scathingly as he turned away from her and leaned his hands against the window pane, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly with each breath.

"He is where he should be."

His words this time were unflinching in their execution.

"You imprisoned him, didn't you?" whispered Belle, guessing somehow from the Prince's reluctance to look at her. "How could you do such a thing?"

"How could I?" he replied, his voice quivering like thunder as he turned slowly to look at Belle with a sideways glance, his luminous hair falling across his forehead. "You don't know the first thing about what it means to be a ruler, do you? If I had let him go free, entire villages would begin to assume there were no consequences to their actions and that is something I cannot allow."

"I don't believe you think this is the only viable solution sir!" exclaimed Belle, this time rising from her seat. "The reason he was out there on his own, I suspect, is because of financial difficulty on your part. If you imprison him now, word will spread and-"

"The public will learn their lesson and do what they were ordered to do!" finished the Prince stepping towards Belle with purpose, no longer defensive as he was before. "Do not speak of things you cannot possibly understand!"

"They will do so out of fear sir, not out of loyalty, as I once told you before," replied Belle resolutely, ignoring the Prince's scathing claims of her lack of knowledge. "Besides, you would practically be asking for a revolt against you!"

Something about their current argument reminded Belle of a conversation they had had before, not too long ago. Loyalty...

"I told you once before that I don't know a single thing about that. Loyalty."

Belle lowered her eyes as the Prince spoke softly, the conversation immediately diminishing in intensity. He must have recognised the halt in her speech and her sudden change in gaze; it was the only explanation of the absence of frustration in his voice.

The young librarian hardly registered the man's words however as she thought about his strange reaction the day before. Belle's eyes widened as she came to a certain conclusion. Surely, he must know why she was here...

"Is that why you thought I was trying to leave?" she uttered, lifting her head to look directly at the Prince, who was once more mere feet away from her.

For his part, the young man's expression turned into that of alarm, looking, perhaps for the first time, inarticulate. For one bizarre moment, Belle almost thought he looked scared. His eyes quickly shifted all around her face as the moment passed, as if trying to search for something. It took a while but Belle finally realised he was searching for anything which suggested negativity, such as sarcasm, criticism or dishonesty.

If nothing had occurred at this precise moment to disrupt their conversation, perhaps things would have taken a different turn, but alas, this was never meant to be.

The two beings both flinched at the same time as they heard disruption come from beyond the outer doors of the Prince's quarters. The rising sound of a populated hallway reached their ears as they turned to look behind themselves at the entrance of the Wing.

Belle, within the private confines of her mind, was glad for the sudden break in their exchange, because she knew the Prince would have turned to besmirch her suggestion or worse, accuse her trying to expose his vulnerabilities. The voice of the Prince finally broke through their inner silence, a completely separate space to the carnage they could hear coming from outside. Belle turned to look at him once more, this time in a much more hesitant fashion.

"I am guessing that you would preferably want to leave at this juncture but also not wish anyone to know you were here with me as it would attract unwanted gossip."

Belle shifted the weight of her feet, as she was prone to do, while trying to form some response within her mind but the Prince continued on, his voice nonchalant as he took one step towards her.

"Leaving the West Wing now, therefore, would not serve to be in your best interest."

Perhaps the Prince had seen the worry etched across Belle's face. Though his face was passive, his voice was tinged ever so slightly with a certain bitterness, and Belle knew his pride was hurt by the nebulously-tarnished reputation he was now shouldered with.

Before she could give an appropriate answer, he passed her by, a faint breeze gently grazing her skin as the Prince walked towards a large oil-painting situated by the left wall, depicting a group of wild grey horses galloping through a shallow river.

"Belle, would you like to leave?" asked the Prince quietly while looking casually up at the picture in front of him.

"What?" stammered Belle, turning in alarm to stare at his back. Perhaps he had drunk a little more than she had initially estimated.

"Would you like to escape, just for a little bit?"

Belle blinked as she stared at the Duke, who turned to look at her when she didn't immediately respond.

"I…." she breathed, before silently shaking her head as the Prince leaned his head forward slightly and folding his arms behind his back.

"I know all about gossip," he began, his voice a little softer and more humorous than usual, "and the heaviness that comes with it. So, I am asking you politely, if would you prefer to escape."

Belle opened her mouth as if to speak but she could not immediately form any words. Although she felt very little effect when it came to the Prince's anger, for some reason, when it came to abrupt changes in mood, she could almost never keep up.

"I don't think I understand what you are saying sir," she replied, still nonplussed, as the Prince began to smirk and place his hand along the wall of limestone beside the grand painting.

"This castle was built long before your little village existed," said the Prince, pushing the palm of his hand into one of the blocks of stone, which began to shift very slowly. "And as such, it's various nooks and crannies remain a mystery, or at the very least, long forgotten by its inhabitants."

Belle stepped closer, looking up in fascination as she heard the sound of something metallic clinking into the place and the previously seemingly meaningless large portrait rattle in response.

"Let's just say I was rather curious as a child and had too much time on my hands," muttered the Prince as he lifted his arms and pulled the painting down, revealing behind it a large, gaping hole.

"Is that," breathed Belle as she squinted her eyes, trying to look beyond the wall and through the pitch-black pathway beyond.

"Yes, indeed, it is," replied the Prince swiftly as he placed the painting down and stood up straight, showing no signs of fatigue. "One of many walkways within this castle."

As Belle tried to discern what lay beyond, she was immediately reminded of another similar passageway Plumette had lead her through, mere days after she had first arrived at the castle.

"Where does it lead?" she asked, unable to hide her curiosity.

"Many different places, but I use it mainly to escape," answered the Prince promptly, pulling himself up into the hole and then turning to look back at Belle, who was now staring at him incredulously. "Hence why people seem to call me-"

"The phantom prince," finished Belle, her eyes glazing over as she ruminated. "That's how you have been wandering about the castle all these months?"

"You sound surprised," replied the Prince as he looked down at Belle sardonically. "But yes, that is how I have been getting around. And it is how I offer you now to escape being noticed by whoever is strutting about the entrance to my quarters, which they most certainly ought not to be doing."

Belle felt her initial excitement ebb away slightly as she looked up at the Prince, who was once more obscured by darkness, hunched over slightly due to the low ceiling of the passageway.

The sound from outside the quarters grew louder still, and it gave the impression that a whole herd of people was now crowded around the entrance. Belle turned to look at the double doors with certain apprehension in her eyes.

"The choice is yours of course," continued the Prince, "but if I were you, I would not want to step out of there at present."

Looking back at him, Belle could not help letting out a sigh of unwilling agreement. He was right. Mrs Potts knew perfectly well where she was, but she had come that morning to Belle's quarters, speaking in very hushed tones. There were already unseemly rumours floating about the castle about her association with the Prince, and if she were caught coming out of the West Wing by anyone other than the Heads of Household, it would not bode well for her.

"Very well," she replied, hoisting her skirts and coming closer towards her only viable escape route, but just as she came up to lift herself up, the Prince stopped her, pointing towards a low table behind her, placed next to an elaborate writing desk.

"Take the candelabra," he muttered, looking towards it before reverting his gaze back to Belle. "Once I close this trap door, it will become very dark inside."

Stepping cautiously back towards the inner Wing and picking up the candelabra as the Prince had instructed her to do, Belle began to wonder about whether following him was really such a good idea. She was not a shrinking violet however, and somehow, Belle knew she could trust him at this particular juncture.

"Now come here, put the candle to the side and give me your hand."

Taking one last look at the door before turning to see the Prince's arm extended out towards her, Belle noticed it was the only part of him not hidden in darkness.

Her last thought before leaving the premises was a simple but poignant one.

I hope this is not a mistake.

…..

The passageway was dark, but the Prince was used to that by now. He could hear her struggling behind him though, barely managing to keep up as he held the candelabra in front of them, illuminating slightly their pathway beyond. Luckily only the entrance was slightly cramped, and once they got to the main walkway, he did not need to hunch over any longer.

She had refused his hand and gotten up to the entrance of his secret passageway by herself, leaving him standing rather dumbly with his hand outstretched. This he felt to be an insult but she had already begun to walk on, asking him rather brazenly which way they were to go. After putting the painting up and shutting the trap door successfully, the Prince had caught up to her quickly, snatched the candelabra from her hand and told her to stay behind him and simply follow his lead. Although he did appreciate her steadfastness, now was not the time for that.

What followed was cool silence from both of them, but after a few minutes, the Prince was becoming aware that although he could see very well in front him, Belle could not.

Stopping at a turn where the passageway split into three different directions, the Prince turned just to see the woman nearly trip over due to a loose floorboard.

"I'm fine!" she exclaimed as she clung onto the nearby wall, once again refused his hand and lifting herself up, swiping the dust off her skirt before looking up at him expectantly.

"This is ridiculous," replied the Duke bluntly, before gesturing for her to take his arm.

When she did not move, the disgruntled man begrudgingly carried on, becoming ever more irritated that she was staring at him apprehensively. He knew why, but for some reason, it angered him to see Belle looking at him this way.

"Will you please take my arm?" he asked, his voice hard as granite. "I really don't need you flailing about and creating unnecessary noise. You will scare the staff and inspire them to think the castle is now haunted."

Perhaps it was the mere trick of candlelight, but he could swear the damn girl had turned away and began to smirk at his comment.

Thankfully she did take his arm, and they spent the remainder of their journey just so, walking quietly towards their destination.

The Prince did not turn to look at Belle at all and once again, they walked in silence.

He was surprised the little chit had not turned to ask him why he had offered her to come this way or where exactly it was they were going.

Adam himself did not really know. Oh, he knew where they were going but he did not know why exactly he had suddenly felt the urge to lead her through here.

Perhaps it was the sudden interruption to their conversation, when she had suggested rather unexpectedly that he feared her desertion.

The Prince let out a frustrated sigh, causing the girl to flinch slightly and tighten her grip on his arm. It was just as well. He knew she feared him in some way, and yet her quiet intuitiveness sent a cold dagger through him during moments when he least expected it. Like the time she had noticed his love for literature, or when she had pleaded that he let Augustin see him.

She frightened him, with that clear gaze, as if she saw right through him.

He ought to have turned her away, stayed as far away from her as possible, but he had accepted on the night of the fire, that she was his current source of desire.

A desire he wanted but at the same time could not take like those he had taken before. Somehow, ever since that night when they had first met he knew, he instinctively knew, she was different. He lost the urge to devour her, to be rid of her, and now he felt content merely to be in her presence.

Pathetic, the Prince that night at the ball would have said.

In truth, it was not that long ago, but it felt curiously like an age.

Deep in thought, he did not realize that they had arrived, and as he looked up, he noticed the rickety door in front, the early morning sunshine piercing through as they approached it and the Prince felt the cold morning air drafting through as well.

"We're here," he muttered before lowering his arm, causing Belle to let go. He had not noticed it throughout their journey, but her hand had grown warm and calmed him somehow so that he did not mind the dark or their lack of conversation. The cold morning air however seemed to wake him up and put his silly thoughts to one side and deal with the present situation.

Opening the door, the wood resisted slightly as the Prince pushed on it before letting go, revealing that they were at the very edge of the castle, at the back of it, far away from prying eyes. Unlike the front, the back of the castle had remained untouched, remaining as it had been hundreds of years before, full of woodland and greenery.

"This is part of the grounds?" exclaimed the Belle, and the Prince could not help feeling rather pleased at the surprised tone in her voice.

After climbing out, again Belle refused his help but this time he merely smirked in response, the Prince lead her into the woods, taking his distance away from the castle so that they were hidden by the trees. He knew after all that his servants were privy to staring through the windows.

"I hope you don't mind going this way," he began, looking slightly towards Belle as she fell into step beside him. "They won't see us from this angle and it will lead right around the castle to the servant's quarters."

In the clear morning light, he could see her clearly and the slight redness in her cheeks was not missed by him. He was relieved she seemed much more relaxed after their little squabble in the West Wing. As much as her outbursts had angered him, he had grown used to them by now and was aware he both treated her and saw her differently to any other person that he knew of.

What caused him such conflict was the fact that he didn't know what to do with her.

He had also acutely aware of the fact that she despised him and everything he stood for.

"I thought you said I was to, and I quote, 'never go near the borders again'," uttered Belle while giving him a sly glance.

The Prince frowned as he shifted his gaze swiftly towards her, and for a moment, Belle's suave gaze turned into that of apprehension. Noticing her sudden nervousness, the Prince soon took to shaking his head helplessly before turning to look up at the sky in disbelief.

"Not when you're with me," he replied wistfully, completely unaware that Belle was staring at him with very round eyes. It was just as well, for it would have blossomed their conversation into a rather awkward situation.

Belle did not elicit any response, but the Prince did notice that she looked quickly away from him as they began to walk further through the wooded glade. Staring down at her from the side, the Prince found himself unwittingly studying her luscious hair, tied neatly to the back, but not preventing its brilliant colour from catching in the morning sunlight, turning it ever so slightly rosy red, like the very flowers in his rose gardens.

Looking down, he noticed a piece of parchment in her outer pocket and he was reminded of what she had first told him when explaining why she had been at the edge of the borders the night before.

After a moment of consideration, the Prince turned to pose her a question, slowing down the pace of his walk.

"The letter, it's from your father, isn't it?"

Belle turned around to face the Prince, not noticing that he had fallen behind.

"Yes," she replied, looking up at him with mild surprise.

"He misses you?"

"Yes, of course."

The Prince nodded. He remembered the outraged look on her face when he had suggested she was attempting to escape.

"You would never leave until all your debts were paid because otherwise your father would end up in debtor's prison, is that not correct?"

His gaze was lowered but he could not keep the seriousness out of his speech. It was a personal question and they both knew it.

"Well, yes…."

The Prince smiled upon hearing the hesitation in her voice.

"I'm sorry I suggested you would leave without doing so," he continued, lifting his head to smile at Belle grimly. She was staring at him as if he had just grown two horns on his head.

"You are not such a selfish human being. Ill-judgement, on my part."

"And now I don't know want to say," replied Belle, reverting her eyes nervously as she turned to face forward as the Prince began to walk again. "I was surprised you knew Cogsworth was employing people here in exchange for paying taxes."

"To a point I knew, yes," said the Prince, folding his hands around his back as they walked sich by side. "But in the past, I had no interest and I left most of it to Cogsworth to decide. It made no difference to me then, as much as that might disgust you to hear. I suppose he thought it better than to end up in debtor's prison."

When Belle did not reply, the Prince turned to see her looking at him with some hostility in her almond eyes. Her pretty mouth was pursed into a thin line and he could do nothing but look at her apprehensively before continuing on.

"I was more interested in parties and social occasions than whatever happened within my own household. I'm surprised that you find that to be surprising. It is not such a unique thing within my own circle for the workings of ones' own estate to be carried out by those in one's own employment. But perhaps it is because we are from different worlds; it must sound quite strange to you."

"It is no wonder that you revert to old ways... with such a distance between yourself and your subjects, there is no hope in your understanding them."

"I keep that distance because I want it there!" replied the Prince, feeling that suffocating sense of frustration rise within himself once more. "I have no interest in understanding the measly peasants residing in my villages-"

"But you are speaking to me sir," interrupted Belle, striding up and turning towards him, blocking his path and forcing him to look up at her. "I came from the village of Villeneuve, not that I expect you to recognise the name, and I am one of those 'measly peasants' which you speak about with such scorn!"

Looking down at the beautiful creature in front of him, she seemed not that far from a woodland nymph which might appear in one of the books in his library. The Prince could do nothing but laugh slightly in response to her self-description.

"Believe me, mademoiselle," he replied, taking one step towards her, wanting to see the slight green in her eyes, "if any of them were half as intriguing as you, I would have a huge dilemma on my hands."

He was pleased to see the result of his response on her face, a mixture of confusion and bafflement. If he was not mistaken, he even saw a hint of red in her cheeks. She did not pick up on the humour in his voice however and continued on, likely wishing to make another one of her most valid points to him.

"You cannot blame them sir. They do what you order them to do, that is all. You tax the villagers, and force them to keep you safe by patrolling the woods. It is unfortunate, what happened to the castle, but as a result you cannot afford more guards around the borders. It is not their fault that the wolves are managing to come closer to the castle than you would like. If you wish to solve this problem, then you must work together and support each other. Only then can you be sustainable as a community."

She was looking at him with such determination in his eyes that it was hard to scorn at her. He did not appreciate her criticisms; she was in no position to give them, but he could not look away from her as she delivered her speech, presenting a form of passion so pure and whole that he almost envied her for it.

"I have never heard of such a community," he replied after a moment, slowly stepping to the side and walking past Belle. "Your head is in the clouds, what you dream of is pure fantasy and has no place in this world. At least, not in my world."

"Perhaps you have not taken the time to explore all the possibilities."

"What possibilities do you suggest I contemplate then?"

He could not help challenging her slightly as he turned to look back at her, his voice light, a stark contrast to the seriousness of hers. Belle was still by the oak tree where they had stopped, her hand lent gently against its bark.

As he approached her slowly, the Prince noticed that she was shivering. He frowned with concern as he looked down at her frock, at the thin linen material covering her shoulders, clearly doing very little to keep her warm.

"I know from personal experience the villages have no means of protecting themselves because they have no borders unlike this castle," replied Belle, turning towards him and wrapping her arms around herself, giving the impression of someone who looked a lot more vulnerable than they actually were.

"That is a fact not a solution," muttered the Prince as he unclipped the clasp of his cloak and pulled it off, lifting it swiftly above Belle's head, causing her to look up at him in alarm, and wrapping it around her just as she began to open her mouth in protest.

"Sir I don't-"

"You're shivering," said the Prince bluntly, ignoring her pleas. "I can't build borders around the villages Belle, not right now. I cannot even afford to reconstruct my own castle."

"People die in the forest sir," replied Belle, moving away from the bark of the tree as she looked up at him once more with that extremely becoming look of determination on her face.

"People die in debtor's prison as well, have you never thought about the consequences? What happens if we do not pay our debts? I came here because the alternative was my father ending up dying in there!"

At this outburst, the Prince felt anger flare up within himself, despite knowing that Belle was not one to lie. As he glared at her, he knew her warm brown eyes did not display any signs of insincerity.

"You're lying," he uttered, despite himself. "People don't die in debtor's prison, they are released when they pay back what they owe, which is never much. And not a single man has died while patrolling these areas."

Belle did not immediately reply, instead having the nerve to approach him closer still and look up at him, gripping hold of his cloak tightly to her chest as she scrutinized him carefully. She seemed to be searching for something, but the Prince could not tell what. Either way, she was making him feel very uncomfortable. He could even see his own breath intermingling with hers in the cold winter air.

"Are you sure?" she asked bluntly, not reverting her gaze.

Clearly, she had no idea what effect she was having on him.

"I have never been told officially but I am sure it is the case."

It was a poor response, but given the circumstances, it was the best he could give.

"Perhaps you haven't been told because Cogsworth feels he needs to protect you from the reality," replied Belle quietly, taking one short step back, and looking up at him with that expression he hated, as if she were disappointed with him.

"But the reality is much direr than you could possibly imagine sir."

"You said I am carrying out the old ways," replied the Prince, unable to resist trying to make her understand, though there was no objective reason to do so. "My father did what his father did. He did what his father did. That is the way of things, the way of my family."

She continued to stare at him with that look in her eyes, the one seared in his brain, ever since that night in the ballroom. She still didn't understand, she still didn't know why…

"I didn't want this," exclaimed the Prince as he took one step towards her, causing Belle to take one step away from him also. His voice was coming out a lot rougher than he had wanted.

"I... I never chose."

Judging by the blank expression on her face, it was clear Belle did not know whether he was expecting an answer or not. Either way, it seemed she did not know what to say.

"I don't expect you to understand."

He cast his eyes down and turned away from her to look at the woodland, and beyond that the outer grounds. They were coming around and soon they would be near the front of the castle.

"But as a ruler, is it not your right to change things?"

The Prince blinked and out of the corner of his eye, saw Belle come and stand beside him, basking in the early morning sunlight. Though he deliberately spoke with some humour in his voice, he gazed at her rather sombrely.

"Now you're beginning to sound like Augustin."

"Perhaps he has a point," she spoke softly, glancing towards him.

An innocent enough remark, but it did escape the Prince's notice.

Looking sharply towards her, he tried to detect any signs of irregularity in her expression, but she merely stared at him in a rather serene, if not slightly sad way.

"You like him, don't you?"

The Prince cleared his throat, alarmed at the bitterness seeping through his voice.

"He is a very pleasing man, yes."

"Infuriating is what he is," growled the Prince, turning away from the picturesque scene and joining the footpath once more. "Come, time is getting on and the staff will begin to wonder where you are."

'And the girl?'

The Prince groaned as his feet slowed down, Augustin's voice filling his head. He begrudgingly turned to look at Belle, who was just about catching up to him from behind. The Duke forgot sometimes, just how fast his pace of walking was sometimes.

"I think your ideas are, quite frankly, ridiculous," he began, once she had caught up to him. "But... if things are as bad as you say, perhaps I should at least see what the real circumstances are. My estate is in shambles, so I have no choice but to put up taxes. Either way, there is nothing I can do."

"That's not necessarily true!"

The Prince smiled yet again at her boldness. Strange. Mere months ago, if someone had spoken to him thus, he would have had them thrown out of the castle.

As he prepared to answer the spritely woman, she turned towards him like a bolt of lightning and gasped, as if she had literally just been struck by one.

"What is it?" he replied in alarm, lifting his hands in concern as if to catch her.

"Let them cut down the forest," she whispered, looking somewhere beyond her own peripheral vision before glancing up towards him. For the first time, he saw true excitement sparkling in her eyes, giving her the most enchanted look he had ever seen on a human being.

"What?" he breathed, barely aware he sounded half faint.

"Let them cut down the trees surrounding their villages!"

Despite all the blinding beauty he saw before him, that one comment did not fail to make his heart pound but in a very different way.

"What?" he stammered, dropping his arms down abruptly.

"You may not be able to pay them but you could do something for them in return! How about giving them the materials they need to protect their own surroundings in exchange for patrolling the woods? You would make the border between the villages and the woods further apart, making them better protected and-"

"That invites all sorts of complications," interrupted the Prince, his authoritative voice immediately overpowering hers as he strode towards the destination once more. "Where would it end? If I start being lenient word would spread to Versailles. They would not approve of such antics. Besides, cutting down the woods, giving people something... Then they start to think they can have anything."

"That is what you have been told sir but I do not believe you sincerely believe that," replied Belle, her voice a little breathless as she tried to keep up with the Prince. "As for your reputation... Forgive me sir but it is already in tatters as it is. I doubt anything you do now would create such a dent."

The Prince's eyes darkened as he took in her words. For all her optimism, she was still woefully ignorant. He was not angered by her disrespect, but rather because she had the annoying habit of being able to speak the truth and nothing much else. A rare quality which made her seem almost unreal at times.

"Do you know what happened in Paris?" he asked gruffly, slowing his pace so she could walk beside him.

The Prince noted Belle's hesitation to answer and knew he had caught her in his web.

"I…" she began, somewhat begrudgingly, "have heard you were criticised for what happened with the castle. That you should not have helped as you did, that they shunned you because of your considerable debts which were made public."

The Prince nodded his head dutifully as he listened to her explanation.

"If that is all you have heard then that explains why you speak so freely. You indeed have not heard the worst of it. I doubt the villagers have remained as oblivious as you when it comes to what happened there. I do not think they would want to put much trust in me at present, given the fact that I am being labelled as a cold-blooded killer, like my father before me."

The Prince immediately felt the turn in the conversation. Though he was not looking at her, the Duke knew Belle was most certainly looking at him with more than apprehension in her eyes.

"What?"

It was her turn now to be rendered speechless.

"I see you do not dispute the fact. It is a believable story, given my image, and I should imagine every respectable debutante is being kept as far away from me as possible. I do not blame them."

"Sir.." began Belle, and to the Duke's surprise she did not sound so fearful as he had expected her to be. "it is not my place to ask what happened and I will not press you on the matter but I really think if you tried the outcome might surprise you-"

"Easy for you to say, being as kind and blindingly beautiful as you are," snapped the Prince, swiftly turning towards her, eyes ablaze, only to find her standing much closer towards him than he had anticipated.

"In my current state, I doubt they would want to hear a single one of my pleas."

He could not help his final words, he could not stop them from coming out of his mouth and as he observed Belle, he searched as he had many times before, for any sign of fear.

As always, the Prince was left disappointed and Belle stood resolute, her hands folded in front of her skirt, eyebrows slightly arched, eyes staring at him expectantly.

"What do you think?" he whispered as he looked down at her inviting mouth, which was pursed as ever in a thin line of disapproval.

"Sir?" she uttered as she fluttered her eyelids like a hummingbird.

"Do you still think I am a monster, like you once alluded to me I was?"

'You sir are no angel.'

As her eyes widened, the Prince silently confirmed his suspicions and looked down at the ground covered in dead leaves, a mixture of red and yellow bleeding into the soil. Though she put on a brave face, the Prince knew Belle viewed him as she ought to, even without knowing all the details.

The Duke ought to have felt satisfied at this conclusion but instead he only felt hollow inside. She did view him the way all the other servants in the castle did.

And the Prince knew this had be a good thing.

"If I told you what I did, what atrocities my family has committed, you would run, as you should have yesterday. You may not fear wolves, but you are wise to fear me."

"Do not speak nonsense sir," said Belle dismissively in response, turning to walk further down the path. "It does not suit you, as bizarre as I do find your observations at times. I do not fear you and I never will, whatever nonsense people should sprout."

The wind began to blow slightly, sweeping her hair across her face but Belle seemed to pay no mind, staring directly back at the Prince with resolution, no hint of conflict displayed on her face.

Finding it hard to look directly at her, the Duke stared beyond, down the secluded footpath as he walked up towards Belle.

"You are indeed as naive as I once said you were. But there is a certain charm to your idiotic stubbornness, I will not dispute that."

"My-" stammered the brunette, turning away from the Prince and strutting forward, refusing to face him. "Sir, you are the stubborn one, not I!"

Prince smirked and laughed silently in response to hearing the almost comical sense of constriction within her voice. He could not help pulling Belle down a few pegs after all she had thrown at him, no matter how 'just' he secretly thought her accusations to be.

"If my father were still alive, he would do more than laugh at you for speaking such language towards a superior..."

He murmured the words almost by mistake, for they had been more passive thought than something he had actively wanted to say to the extraordinary woman beside him.

His statement however, was hauntingly true. His father would have never allowed anyone to speak thus to a superior, let alone himself, as Duke. The Prince was glad his father had died before Belle had arrived at the castle. It was a sobering thought and also a warning for what was to inevitably come...

Turning to look at her, the Prince felt something leap out of his chest as he found the enchanting creature looking at him, a rather nebulous expression on her face. Her delicate chin was tilted up slightly, as if she wanted to ask a question.

For she did not belong here…

"Is it so wrong sir, to care?"

The Prince's gaze turned into that of alarm as he stared at Belle, and he felt once more his heart pound in his chest and something swell within himself. Yet again it had happened, and this time he recognized it for what it was. That she had unmistakeably, unwittingly perhaps, caught him once again.

He could do nothing but stare stoically down at her, trying to look at the source of his discomfort as passively as possible. Not such an easy feat.

"Is it so inappropriate to care about the welfare of those who serve you? I do not believe you to be so cold sir, after all, you are conversing with me at present and I am a mere servant."

She spoke the words so plainly, in a such a conversational tone, that the Prince almost wondered whether she was playing some trick on him. As he gazed heavily into her eyes however, which began to show signs of regret of speaking so openly, the Prince knew Belle was indeed naïve, but in more ways than one.

She had no idea.

She had no concept of the effect she had on him, absolutely none. She didn't understand that for him, this was not normal. Nothing about this, about their interactions, was normal.

He did not speak to servants in this manner. He did not let them speak so openly about their thoughts, about how the castle ought to be run, least of all about his own ways of thinking.

As intelligent as the young woman was, the Prince saw in that moment as she continued to look at him blankly, that she was as much an innocent as those dear maidens she read about in her books.

The dangerous effect she had on those around her in not realizing her own beauty, how her alluring power was, to be crass, making him feel extremely uncomfortable in his nether regions.

Of these things, she had no idea at all.

It was either that or she had no interest in such things. Perhaps it was both.  
No wonder she had been so terrified the first night they had met. He had been feeling such immediately volatile feelings that night, things that she not even begun to tap into. Judging by what he was witnessing now, the Prince guessed his judgement was right, if she really thought he merely saw her as a servant.

Suddenly he felt quite stupid.

Not knowing how to respond to such an earth-shattering statement, the Prince tried to take control of the conversation himself.

"He was condemned for it you know."

"What?" stammered Belle, as they began to walk again.

As the Prince continued, his voice was well-tamed and mannered as they went down the long winding footpath at a leisurely pace. The trees were beginning to part again and the sky above began to peak through the branches once more as they rounded towards the front of the castle, where the wooded area ended and disappeared into the well-architected grounds beyond.

"Emotion... my father said it was the one thing which held more destructive power than anything else."

Glancing towards Belle, the Prince noted the look of disbelief ridden on her face. "Because emotion you know… It is never to be expressed outwardly. It is a bleak sign of weakness in a ruler."

He smiled blandly at the young librarian after finishing his comment, who continued to look at him silently with that look of incredulity in her doe-like eyes. Beginning to feel a little uneasy about the unwitting way he had accidentally led the conversation, the Prince continued on in haste.

"That is why we have poetry. Poetry is the most private form of art in existence. There to be felt alone. To be read privately. It is as if the words were written for you and you alone. There is always something hidden about poetry, something almost forbidden about it. Which is why it is so attractive to so many."

Towards the end, the Prince began to feel he was speaking more to himself in retrospect, rather than towards Belle. Looking up abruptly, as if waking from some trance, he turned in embarrassment to see Belle peering slightly, a crooked smile on her face.

"What am I saying," stammered the Prince, feeling his throat start to constrict as Belle continued to stare at him. "Ignore me, I'm sprouting nonsense."

"It's not nonsense!" exclaimed Belle, sounding almost upset as she involuntarily grabbed hold of his arm, stopping them from going on just as they reached the end of the footpath and had stepped into the open air.

Realizing a second too late her own actions, Belle let go of the Prince's arm as if she had just touched burning metal and took a step away from him, looking down at the grass in mortification.

Turning his head, the Prince scrutinized Belle, narrowing his eyes as he noted that she had begun to tie her hands into a convoluted knot and was almost neurotically biting her lip.

'Is it so wrong sir, to care?'

The Prince smiled serenely as Belle continued to look miserably down at the ground.

"I apologize sir for acting out of turn. It was disrespectful and-"

"I have heard all I wish to hear," interrupted the Prince, causing Belle to look up at him but not in alarm but rather surprise. She had inevitably heard the lightness of his words.

"I'm sure you will hear pretty soon from those scum I call servants what happened in Paris. This may indeed be the last conversation we exchange together alone."

"Don't be silly sir."

She spoke so brazenly that the Prince could not help but snicker slightly while looking at the serious expression on her face.

"Besides, we have arrived," he said, gesturing towards the castle which stood just behind them, now in full view. "You ought to go in now, they will be wondering where you are."

Belle looked up at the huge structure as if she had only just noticed where they were. She had been so caught up in their conversation she had clearly not been paying attention when it came to where they were going. There was something enchanting about that to the Prince, and mysteriously, for him at least, it seemed to please him that she had been so sucked in by his strange ruminations.

"Sir, before I go, will you please consider it? About the woods and borders for the villages? It is as much for your benefit as theirs, I am convinced."

Reverting his gaze, the Prince felt the now familiar swell return as he tried to block out the pleading sound of her voice.

"Will you at least let that man go free?"

The Prince looked sharply at Belle and hardened his gaze, while she continued to look at him almost hopefully.

He taxed the villages because that's what his father did and that had always been the way of the aristocracy. As such, he had never thought to think in another way. How could she ask him to suddenly change years and years of tradition and hierarchy?

Letting her shoulders sag, Belle dejectedly lowered her gaze and smiled painfully as she turned away. It was as if he had wounded her merely by glancing at her dismissively.

About to go into the servant's quarters, the disappointed nymph walked slowly towards the hidden entrance to the servant's quarters, her hands gripping hold of her skirts tightly just as the Prince spoke once more, unable to stop himself.

Only as he caught up to her did he, wishing nothing more than to rid the heart-wrenching expression off her face, swiftly grab hold of Belle's arm and turn her around to face him.

Looking down at the spirited woman, he saw her eyes glittering slightly but perhaps it was just the trick of the light. It pained him to no end to see her thus and he punished himself inwardly, knowing that he was the cause for her anguish.

"I will consider your proposal, if only because I despise to see that look on your face any longer."

Blinking up at him, Belle stared at the Prince wordlessly as he lowered his hand down to her own, unable to resist at least trying to soothe her somehow, even as his conscience screamed for him to stop.

After his hand slid down her arm and went beyond the sleeve of her dress, the young man pressed the innermost part of Belle's palm softly with his thumb. Taking a moment to reflect, the Prince felt the heat of her hand before letting go of it slowly, sombrely staring at her before turning to return back into the woods.

As for the girl in question, she stood utterly still, her hand slightly outstretched as it began to tingle slightly, as if somehow the Prince had left something with her. Something that was never going to go away. She was barely aware of how quickly he had retreated, even less that later that day, he did indeed let the young guard go free and let him return to his post.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Throughout their acquaintance, the Marquis had always looked up to his cousin, the Duke's son. He was seen as the dark horse within society but danger was always attractive and the inspired Marquis knew the Prince used this to his advantage.

So much promise…. Yet here he was, almost unrecognizable. The Marquis shook his head and clucked as he looked on at the despicable image before him. It was as he had feared….

Ever since that night at the ball, he had sensed a shift in the Prince's behaviour. At first, he had thought that lowly peasant Mansart had been behind it, re-emerging suddenly after his father's sudden death to take over as the highest regarded architect within aristocratic society. Such were the facts, however the Marquis had always disregarded the man as a mere leech, seeking to snatch up money quickly without any real connection to it. No doubt his ambition was to attach himself to some lady or debutante in the near future, thereby worming himself right into their tight circle, something the Marquis found to be an absolutely abhorrent notion, even just to briefly think about.

The high-born gentlemen had secretly agreed with Gaston when the oaf had suggested that he make his way directly to the castle and confront Belle, but the Marquis de Bayon never planned to admit that the man was right. Either way, he had failed to speak with D'Arque first because the damn bastard was nowhere to be seen. Despite having travelled to all the neighbouring villages, he had come away unsuccessful. Realizing that Gaston was just in his reasoning, the aristocrat finally decided to make his way to the Duke's castle, early in the morning so he would have plenty of time to search for Belle.

Finding Augustin in the West Wing earlier in the morning had been a little disconcerting. As cousin to the Prince, Bayon had never understood why his cousin took such interest in the architect, who had absolutely no right to be there with them in their gilded castles.

Nevertheless, the Marquis took pleasure in teasing the humble man. Clearly, he was besotted by that pretty piece who was standing meekly beside him that morning and though the little thing had shirked its head away from the Marquis, he had paid no mind.

Marquis' did not waste their time chasing rabbits.

However, the plump man had felt relieved upon seeing them; Augustin could do no better than to marry a servant girl, a proper equal. They deserved each other. Besides, marrying for love was the classic sign of a pauper in sight, such practises were not for those of his station, that of princes and high-born ladies. Or so was the Marquis' belief when it came to matters of matrimony.

Which was why he looked on with dismay and disappointment in his eyes from his hidden position in the rose garden. At first, he had mistaken what he was seeing as an illusion.

Now the mean-spirited bachelor knew the Prince liked to devour rabbits just like any one in their pack, but as Marquis watched the noble man in question slowly capture the hand of the maid standing opposite him, as if she were a woman of noble birth, the Marquis's snide smile quickly slipped away and was replaced with what can only be described as a look of absolute horror.

He could not believe his eyes. The Prince was almost unrecognizable, and it had nothing to do with his appearance. For him to behave in such a manner, standing at arm's length and yet looking so serious, almost bowing his head towards the farm girl. A farm girl! For that was all the Prince could have known of her. The sight was absolutely despicable and the Marquis could only look for so long before he began to feel sick.

Gaston was wrong. The Prince had become attached to the girl. For her part, she remained largely still and expressionless, though it was hard for the Marquis to tell because he was standing so far away.

Still, the eyes did not deceive. The Prince had taken more than a passing fancy towards the slip of a girl and that did not bode well for Gaston.

The Marquis narrowed his eyes as he watched the Prince step back and turn away, walking slowly back into the woods. The girl remained still with her hand still outstretched and it was as clear as day, even a village idiot could have seen it, that the Prince had clearly affected her in some way.

Shutting his eyes, the Marquis tried to calm down and think. Opening his eyes, he looked back at the girl who was looking at the Prince's retreating figure.

There was one silver lining.

The Marquis knew his cousin better than anyone and he knew all his transgressions, perhaps even more than Augustin. If he kept a close eye on the girl and made her more aware of what atrocities the man had committed, perhaps that would encourage her to not only leave, but also sever all connections to the Prince.

If he had gone as soft as the Marquis feared he had, it was possible the Prince could even be persuaded to pay all of the girl's debts and send her home to her loving father…

Turning away from the scene, Bayon began to relax, becoming more and more glad in fact that things had escalated as they had since his last visit.

Crawling slowly out between the boxed hedges, he slowly turned to walk towards his steed, planning carefully in his head the next course of action he ought to take.

As he climbed up on to his honey-coloured horse, Bayon stopped short just as he was about to turn the animal roughly around. If he could find D'Arque first and get the truth of the old man's motives, would that not serve him better than to immediately tell Gaston what he had just witnessed?

For if the girl was as valuable as Gaston suspected her to be, why not then…

Why not take the creature for himself?

Nodding his head in satisfaction, the Marquis felt a cruel smile begin to appear on his face. He was a Marquis after all, and clearly if Belle could feel even a slight interest in the Prince, a man far more volatile and monstrous than himself, then surely, she would take comfort and allow him to support her instead?

That was better than what Gaston had offered after all….

Mansart took once last look at the run-down castle before turning away. He had a lot to do.

First, he had to find D'Arque.

…..

She must have looked like she had been hit by some enchanted spell.

'In a daze' was the only way Belle could describe her current state of being as she slowly opened the door to her room and closed it shut, leaning her head against the cold wooden surface as she had tried to make sense of what had just transpired.

If she had felt confused about the way she thought about the man before, it was nothing compared to how she felt right now.

When he had looked at her with such scorn, revealing not at all subtly that he found her intriguing, Belle had not known whether to be outraged or scared of the meaning behind his words. On one hand, she had always known that he viewed her as all the men in Villeneuve did, having that look which she knew was only natural for the male species but it still made her turn away in disgust.

And yet the way the Prince had stared at her as she couldn't help but retort back against his scathing words, was different to the way he had glared down towards her in the ballroom the night they first met.

It was as if he really saw her. Like he was looking beyond her face, towards something else, even amongst all his frustration and rage.

Frustration and rage which she suspected originated from his own blindness towards what was happening around him.

Turning away from the door, Belle sat swiftly down onto her bed, feeling acutely the material beneath her sag /c'ßfeebly. Biting her lip, the young woman let out a haggard sigh. It was only then that she realized her body was shaking.

And no, it wasn't from the cold.

Turning the palm of her hand upwards, Belle stared down at the place where the Prince had touched her.

He had not apologized when she had alluded towards the fact that he was the reason why she was forced to work at the castle. He had denied the suffering which befell those in the debtor's prisons. Belle ought to have been therefore horrified by his statements which revealed his ignorance and obliviousness to the reality of his irresponsibility, even if he had only just become Duke.

She ought to have turned away from him; she ought to have been disgusted even when he explained the reasons behind his actions. Any sensible person would have, recognizing immediately the spoiled upbringing the Prince must have had, and therefore have condemned him. Belle believed that everyone had choices in what they did, no matter how torturous an upbringing they had had to have endured. She severely doubted however that the Prince's childhood could have been anything as near as terrible as those poor children who lived in the outskirts of Villeneuve.

Belle knew all this, she knew it, she knew how she ought to have felt-

And yet.

Looking down at her palm, she still felt the presence of his touch, as if the volatile man were still standing in front of her, his harsh voice contrasting so vehemently with the expression on his face, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and he was only begging her to understand.

' _I… I never chose.'_

There was something about the way he spoke. He wasn't searching for pity, he didn't sound like he was even speaking to her. The tortured look in his blue eyes was not that of pain but rather resignation, as if he were perfectly aware of the way everyone around him viewed him, including the gentry, servants and villagers.

Belle had always grown up believing, or at least wanting to believe, that she was more than just a simple farm girl and that she could do anything she set her mind to, even if the world around her tried to convince her otherwise. The look in the Prince's eyes however, suggested to Belle that it was not the world which had convinced the Duke of the irreversible road he was set on, but rather himself.

It was probably that precise moment that Belle realized the Prince was probably the most miserable person residing in the castle. Though she didn't fully understand why, she genuinely felt sorry for him.

He did not deserve her pity; after all, he taxed Villeneuve and that was why she was there but… Somehow, she felt like he did not mean any ill-will with the actions he took. Belle would have said he lacked courage but when she thought back on his words, such reasoning seemed lacking and carelessly dismissive in some way.

Breathing out in frustration, the young lady looked towards her bedside table and the gilded copy of 'Much Ado About Nothing' which lay there.

Although she had not thought much of it before, Belle realized as she stared at the frayed cover, that the Prince was in actuality, probably an incredibly sensitive man. One minute, his eyes were filled with some hidden conflict, the next he was laughing at her and then he would be looking at her introspectively, his true emotions frustratingly hidden away from her. It was for this reason that she was never sure what he was truly thinking, whenever he was near.

He called her ideas about the villages 'ridiculous', which did stir some anger in her, but he had listened after a while and Belle knew this because it was one aspect of the Prince she had come to respect.

He listened.

The girl could not help but smile slyly as she remembered the way his jaw had dropped like a goldfish when she had suggested that he let the villagers build borders used trees from the forest.

 _Cold-blooded killer….._

Belle felt her smile fade as she remembered that particular line of their conversation.

In truth, she had not known what to think of his statement. Or rather, his several statements. The first, when he had unwittingly complimented her, calling her….

It had been so swift, so nonchalant, that Belle had had no time to process his words. As if…. As if he had been feeling these sentiments for quite a while…

It wasn't that it had shocked her in any way. It was just…

He sounded like he envied her. Which made no sense at all.

But the one phrase he had spoken which failed to stop circling around her thoughts like an endless merry-go-round was the one which had made her heart race more than anything else…

' _Blindingly beautiful.'_

Again, he had spoken the words as if he envied her or resented her. He had not spoken as if he were complimenting her appearance, but rather viewing her scathingly, as if she reminded him of the very social circles which had shunned him. Belle could not fathom the reason behind his behaviour but there it was.

Still, she had never been complimented before in such a manner and it had left her unable to decide on which why to take it.

Picking up the copy of her favourite Shakespearean play and slipping it into the large pocket of her skirt, Belle moved quietly towards the door once more, trying to think about the Prince's words before realized something was amiss.

Staring down at her front, the young woman realized in alarm that she still wore the Prince's cloak which was wrapped tightly around herself, it's thin material pressing against her body. Lifting the garment gingerly, Belle saw the edges were frayed, as if someone had been pulling it or worn it all down by wounding it too tightly around a fist.

She had to find some way of giving it back to him…

Belle leapt from her bed, realizing that Marie had just past by her bedroom. She could hear the young maid's voice through the thin wall asking a fellow maid whether she had seen Belle.

Now was not the time for dilly dallying, no matter how surreal a morning she had just gone through. There were things that needed doing, which wasn't bad thing since it was bound to give her some rest and stop her from thinking too deeply over what had just transpired.

"Belle!"

Exclaiming in alarm, the librarian looked up as she opened her door, just in time to see Marie, who was running quickly down the busy corridor.

"Good morning Marie."

"Isn't it a bit late for good morning, it's nearly noon!" replied the petite maid, looking incredibly neurotic, immediately reminding Belle of Cogsworth.

"Where on earth have you been?" she continued hoarsely as Belle locked her door and slipped her room key into one of her side-pockets. "Mrs Potts has been worried sick trying to find you!"

"Where is she?" asked Belle with concern, a frown appeared on her face as she turned to look down towards the kitchens.

"She's upstairs in the portrait gallery," replied Marie, sounding a little breathless perhaps out of sheer relief at finally finding the dark-haired girl. "You'd better get up there quick and make your presence known."

Nodding silently, Belle swiftly began to walk hastily towards the spiral staircase which led to the gallery above. Upon noticing she had not said a word to Marie, she turned around to wave at her. Clearly her mind was still stuck with the Prince and not where she was right now.

"Thank you, Marie, I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you!"

"Not to worry! You can pay me back somehow later!" shouted Marie brightly in response, causing Belle to grin and wave a final time before turning to sprint up the stairs.

Arriving on the landing, Belle was disappointed to find the gallery deserted, but finding the door to the ballroom open slightly, she wandered towards it, hoping that Mrs Potts was inside.

Upon approaching the tall double doors however, Belle was alarmed to hear laughter coming from inside, so rather than going in immediately she remained hidden from view, still close enough to hear what was going on inside.

"Is it really true? What they are saying happened in Paris? It was a little while ago…"

"I am positive. The postman is never wrong with these things. He got his information from a trustworthy source."

Belle narrowed her eyes as she leaned in a little closer. The first voice she knew belonged to Adelle, a new edition. The second was clearly Claudette, which made Belle want to let out a sigh of exasperation. While she could understand why Mrs Potts had decided to keep her, Belle could not help feeling a firm dislike towards the woman, which was a rare thing, because, as the Prince had told her before, she always strived towards understanding those around her rather than simply dismissing them. Claudette however seemed to despise her to some unknown capacity, which completely flummoxed Belle.

"Still, I hesitate to believe it, I can't quite get a grip on the situation," continued Adelle, her voice echoing lightly around the ballroom's high ceilings. "If it's true, he ought to be locked up! The Prince, of all people!"

"Adelle, you are young, so perhaps you do not know… but it is not as unlikely a tale as you might initially think. After all, the late Duke _killed_ the Prince's mother, his own wife, by pushing her down the grand staircase on purpose after a heated row! Like father like son!"

Belle listened silently as the words were spoken but a chilling dullness ran through her body, as if she had suddenly run into an immovable object. Unblinking, she moved not one inch as Adelle spoke once more.

"Is that true Plumette? Did the late Duke really kill his wife?"

There was a slight pause before an earthier voice entered the conversation, clearly belonging to that of Plumette.

"It is only a rumour but most of staff believe so, as does the Prince himself. He did find her first after all, a mere boy at the time… However, I would not dare to put much thought in what supposedly happened in Paris. We do not know what really happened and we must not rely on mere gossip to jump to conclusions."

"That's not true though, is it?" replied Claudette sharply as Belle's eyes widened. She couldn't help imagining the Prince as a child, finding his mother dead at the bottom of the stairs. As a traumatic experience… And then to come to the conclusion that his own father had been the cause… What did that do to a person?

Belle let out a slow breath and looked down at her shivering feet. She knew exactly what it did. She'd seen it for herself.

"What do you mean?" asked Plumette cautiously.

"There were more than a few witnesses present during the incident," replied Claudette confidently. "The Countess' daughter fell while walking down the entrance stairs during the summer ball, with her mother standing right beside her."

"Yes, there were many people there supposedly, but that also creates the argument that the girl could have been simply clumsy and tripped by herself. Besides, with that many people walking down the staircase, it would make it highly plausible that somebody could have accidently pushed her."

"But the Prince was standing right behind her, that much is without question," replied Claudette, her voice firm. "There is no disputing that."

"If reports are true then yes, there is no dispute. But after the girl fell, thankfully suffering no severe injuries, or so I have been informed, the so-called noblemen and women turned immediately to see the Prince standing one step above her. It does not take a genius to imagine what they must have thought."

"Are you suggesting you would have assumed differently if you had been in their position?" retorted Claudette.

To Belle's dismay, the ballroom filled with silence. It seemed that Plumette could not deny that there was absolutely no plausibility to the stroppy maid's accusations.

"And now he is shunned, as he should be," concluded Claudette.

Belle slowly turned away, even as she longed to stay put and try and digest what she had just heard, but she did not want to be caught snooping.

And she would have slowly crept away unnoticed, only she found herself nearly colliding into someone, someone taller than she would proceeded to look down at her quizzically, lifting a single finger to his lips before pointing towards the end of the portrait gallery where it ended to open up go to the front entrance.

"Monsieur Mansart," whispered Belle slowly while her heart continued to jump out of her chest as if she had seen a ghost. It felt like it, given how he had managed to move so silently without immediately giving away his presence.

Once they were further away from ballroom, he finally spoke openly.

"I did not take you to be the type to loiter around and listen to gossip mademoiselle," he started. "I am sorry if I startled you. I did mean any ill-will."

"Oh please do not apologize!" replied Belle hastily, noting that the young man somehow subdued today and not as bright as usual. "I was surprised to see you there, that is all. Were you searching for someone?"

"Well I-" stammered Augustin in response, looking momentarily towards the spiral staircase which led down to the servant's quarters. "I was looking for someone, but it can wait. I would rather speak to you about what you have just heard."

Belle looked uneasily towards the architect as they stopped, coming up exactly towards the grand staircase. It could not have been timed any worse.

"In all honesty, I do not know what to think," replied Belle carefully, purposefully walking towards the fireplace set aside from the staircase, which suddenly had an air of uncomfortable foreboding about it. "I cannot process it that quickly."

"I could only hear parts of it," murmured Augustin, as he came to follow her from behind. "I assumed you had discussed the matter at great length with your fellow staff members already."

"I don't pay much attention to gossip," said Belle swiftly as she gave Augustin a brief smile.

The architect nodded his head, but it was clear he remained unconvinced.

"You know, I have known the current Duke for a very long time. He is many things but I cannot imagine he could ever do such a thing."

"You speak with a lot of confidence sir," replied Belle, trying to make sure she did not sound dismissive but still wanted to voice some concern. "I do not know him that well, so I would not hasten to make any judgements. He did scare me at first but since then-"

"I think his anger towards you came from something else mademoiselle," replied Augustin, a little curtly as he turned to look at her. His gaze was severe, something Belle found to be a little jarring, given the architect's usually light-hearted countenance.

"What exactly do you mean?"

"I think he was scared of you. Perhaps he still is."

Belle took a moment to reply, completely flummoxed by the man's quiet statement. His expression was unreadable, but Belle felt suddenly that he disapproved of, what he clearly assumed to be, ignorance on her part.

"What?"

She had not meant to speak so bluntly but there was no means of containing her disbelief.

"Adam is not, well, he does not do emotion very well," replied Augustin begrudgingly as he turned away from the fireplace and walked back towards the staircase, much to Belle's discomfort. "I do not know how much you know mademoiselle, but he does believe his father was behind his mother's death. The late Duke was the first person the young Prince saw at the top of the stairs after finding his mother. It did not take him long to put two and two together."

"And do you believe it is true?" asked Belle hesitantly as she approached the young man from behind.

"I do," he replied bluntly after a moment, his voice sounding unusually hard. "That man was a monster. I believe he was fully capable of such cruelty."

There was a clear difference when such words came from a man whose judgement Belle believed in. He wasn't a gossiping servant, he was the Prince's closest friend. If he thought the late Duke was guilty then… Belle felt his words rush through her like an unforgiving cold breeze. She could not fault them. And if so…

' _I do not fear you and I never will…'_

She had said those words, but now, looking up at the terrifying staircase, imagining how the Duchess must have fallen down all those hard, marble stairs, Belle could not help but feel a little scared, just as the Prince had predicted. She did not believe the Prince could be a killer or purposefully push the poor girl in the ball.

"The Prince said to me earlier that I ought to fear him. That I was naïve not to. Why would he say such a thing if it wasn't-"

"If it wasn't true?!" snapped Augustin, turning sharply to glare at Belle. "I see now why he fears you. You are no different from any of the others."

"I didn't-" stammered Belle, but he interrupted, taking one step towards her, shaking his head in disapproval.

"You don't understand anything," muttered the dark-haired man, disappointment ridden in his eyes. "I thought you of all people would understand… I thought you were more open-minded."

Belle felt her head drop slightly as Augustin turned away from her, strutting down towards the portrait gallery again before turning to speak once more.

"Forgive me Belle, I am- I am not myself today. However, I would urge you not to believe rumours. The Prince is not what he might first seem to be. There is many a time when he has been a selfless friend to me. Perhaps one day you will come to see that. Please excuse me. Good day mademoiselle."

With that the young architect bowed towards Belle before turning away.

Feeling obviously very flustered by her conversation with the Prince's dear friend, Belle turned wearily towards the grand staircase, letting her shoulders slump as she made her way up the marble steps.

It was rare for Belle to feel guilt, and though she didn't assume the Prince was capable of the same cruelty as his father's she could not deny that it did not make her hesitant to completely dismiss the story of his father. After all, the Prince himself admitted his father was a murderer.

"He's wrong, you know."

Belle immediately whipped around at the sound of the soft-spoken voice, knowing almost instinctively who it was.

Mrs Potts was standing gingerly by the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the young woman with a rather forlorn expression on her face.

"What exactly do you mean?" asked Belle in a muted voice, making her way carefully back down the staircase while cautiously towards the gallery to see Augustin had already disappeared.

"Monsieur Mansart means well, but he does not know the whole story. The dear master has always told those around him that his father was the cause for his mother's death."

"So, he lied?" replied Belle, narrowing her eyes as she reached the final step down.

"Oh no mademoiselle!" exclaimed Mrs Potts, shaking her vigorously in haste. "The Prince only believed what he felt to be the truth, that is all."

Belle looked curiously up towards the grand staircase behind her back before turning to face the Head Housekeeper.

"There is no dispute however, is there, of how the late Duchess died?"

"I'm afraid not," replied Mrs Potts rather dejectedly as she glanced towards the gallery before moving to sit by the fireplace, where Belle and Augustin had been mere moments before.

"The Prince's mother did indeed die as a result of falling down the grand staircase. The Prince found her first, lying at the bottom of the stairs. His father appeared a minute later, after which the servants arrived. The young Prince never saw his father do anything, but he put two and two together, becoming convinced that his father had purposefully pushed his mother. The royal court had their suspicions but with no witnesses nothing ever came of it. Ever since however, society has concluded the late Duke likely played some part in the Duchess' death."

"You say the Prince became 'convinced'…" said Belle very slowly, deliberately careful with her words as she sat down opposite Mrs Potts. It was strange to see the usually very spritely older lady sitting very still in her chair.

Smiling dejectedly, Mrs Potts looked at Belle with a slight glint in her eye.

"The Prince's father was a cold man who remained strictly a traditionalist right till the very end," began Mrs Potts, her voice becoming a little wistful. "When you are young, it is easy to see things in a certain light, unaware that reality often differs from what we assume to be the reality of our world…. The Prince to this day resents the staff, including myself, because we were ordered by the Duke to continue on as usual and turn a blind eye. We were not to show any signs of concern nor sadness. It is key that I mention there were seemingly no servants around the grand staircase at the time of the Duchess' fall and the fact that nobody came to help the Duchess, the fact the Prince was alone when he found her… It did damage, more damage than anything any of us could have comprehended at the time."

"Why would the Duke give you such harmful orders?"

"He wanted a clear divide between the habitants and the servants. We were there to work and only work, as far as he was concerned. We were not allowed to approach the Prince because, as the old man put it, he didn't want the future Duke to form unnecessary attachments with those who he would later have to accept as being below him in social hierarchy. So, we obeyed his rules, even on that terrible day, something I will regret for the rest of my life. It was only after the Duke arrived that we were allowed to intervene and take the young Duke away from his mother."

Mrs Potts' words left Belle speechless. Finally, she had become confronted with something that was utterly beyond her own imagination. Of all the things she could have imagined as an explanation for why the Prince held such resentment, there was no way she could have thought up this. If she had been in his position, how would she have reacted? Would she have misinterpreted the staffs' stiff avoidance as indifference and coldness, as the Prince had? Still, there was one thing which bothered Belle about Mrs Potts' explanation.

"Please do not think I am being rude Mrs Potts, but how could you know so definitively that the late Duke really had no hand in his wife's death?"

Expecting the old lady to look at her in disgust, Belle was surprised to find the woman to be understanding, nodding her head in agreement as if she had been expecting the question.

"Well you see my dear, there was in fact somebody actually there."

Belle blinked in surprise as Mrs Potts glancing nervously towards the portrait gallery before hunching over her seat and speaking in hushed tones.

"One woman, who happened to be walking through the West Wing, heard the Duke and Duchess arguing. A minute later the Duchess appeared from one of the quarters and walked straight past her, making her way hurriedly towards the grand staircase, where both the East and West Wing end and join together. The maid went into the quarter the Duchess had just come out of, to find the Duke, who was furiously marching back and forth by the mantelpiece. He allowed her to clean the room while he still stood there, a very rare occurrence I might add, before both of them heard, after approximately five minutes, the young Prince yelling and crying out his mother's name. Both she and the Duke made their way hurriedly towards the grand staircase, but the Duke told the woman to quickly turn away and sound the servant's bell by the West Wing. She was later told not to breath a word of what had transpired to the Prince."

"But why would he do that?" breathed Belle, hardly comprehending what she was hearing. "He was innocent…"

"As to that, I do not know the reasons behind his actions, but all I can be for certain is that the Prince needed someone to blame. He could not bear the idea that his mother had simply tripped and fell. I suspect he refused to believe his mother died as a result of a simple accident because it would mean she had died for no reason at all."

"No matter how painful the situation, if there is meaning to death then it is bearable," said Belle quietly in conclusion. She needed more than a moment to process what she was being told and for some reason she did not want to do it in front of Mrs Potts.

Belle blinked, a sudden realization dawning upon her.

"Why would you tell me this?"

She uttered the words plainly but the meaning behind was heavy, something Mrs Potts was very much aware, if her hesitancy to answer Belle's question was anything to go by.

"We, the Heads of Staff, can no longer deny that a certain connection has formed between yourself and the Prince, whether the two of you are aware of it or not. Please do not misunderstand, we do not disapprove, if anything we are glad the Prince had finally found someone to speak with, but it is also for this reason that I believe you ought to know as much as possible about him, in order to better understand his character. The master is…. a complex man, one that often people misinterpret and, in some cases, don't actually know at all. We- well, I do not wish for you to fall into this category. We are all he has left now and we care about him very deeply, even if he is unaware of it."

"I did not realize you had all been observing so much," replied Belle as she felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Believe me, I would not say the Prince and I are anything beyond acquaintance, but we have had some conversations together. I do not think I can do much to improve his character, if that is your true design."

Mrs Potts smiled knowingly towards the flustered girl, her eyes indicating that she knew perfectly well that Belle was being modest.

"Nevertheless, you are the reason why dear Louis has released from the tower. Cogsworth and Lumiere were most pleased."

Belle battered her eyelids while the rest of her body lay dormant.

"What?"

"Yes, I know dear, news travels very fast in the castle, but it is the truth. Now I am not suggesting that you must 'change' the man or correct his character, but I see no harm in your socializing, despite what others might think."

Belle did not reply immediately. It was one thing to wonder in one's own mind whether one's mysterious connection to a strange Prince had gone past that of mere acquaintance or servant and master. It was quite another thing to have such suspicions be spoken out loud by somebody other than yourself.

Perhaps it was due to her hesitation that Mrs Potts continued to speak, silently reaching over and taking hold of Belle's hand as the young lady looked embarrassingly towards the side, avoiding the elderly woman's gaze.

"My dear, I will tell you this in confidence, as we are currently within relative privacy. The Prince has never trusted anyone enough to allow them to walk with him through the 'secret' passageways of this castle. Nobody, aside from his closest friend, who defended him most vehemently right here just minutes ago. Do not treat the young Duke's attentions lightly, however you may feel about the man in question. They are anything but insincere."

Belle stared sombrely at Mrs Potts as the old lady gently let go of her hand. There was a hint of caution in her eyes, which strangely resembled that of Augustin.

She still did not know what to think of the Duke, but Belle was fairly certain that her initial impressions of the philandering Prince waltzing in the ballroom were hardly relevant anymore.


	23. Chapter 23

Author's note: First of all, I am really, really, really sorry for how impossibly late this update is! Since the last chapter things got a bit hectic and I really did not have any time to write but please do not think for a minute that I have abandoned this story - far from it! As you have probably started to notice, I have planned out this story far in advance, so rest assured, I will keep going. So, now that's out of the way, I hope you will enjoy this next chapter and don't forget to like, fav and comment! I really appreciate all the support coming from you guys and I hope you will continue to follow this story. Happy Reading everyone!

Chapter 23

As the Marquis sat down by the fountain in the middle of the village square of Villeneuve, he let out a sigh of discontent. While he had managed to convince himself back at the castle that he could 'one up' Gaston and take advantage of Belle himself, he was now finding himself at a loss as to how he was going to successfully accomplish this with that gruff oaf of a soldier constantly breathing down his neck.

Looking lazily about his dismal surroundings, the Marquis let his mind wander. A group of impoverished children were playing in the quarter nearby which made it hard for the man to concentrate, making him considerably irritable. Glaring at the faded signs hanging above the humble shops which lined the street in front of him, the aristocrat scowled to himself as he took out his pipe from his inner side pocket.

Once D'Arque found proof, if Gaston's calculations were correct, Belle would be lost to them forever. Which was why the former nobleman had wanted him to find D'Arque and question him to see how much time they had left…

The Marquis paused just as he was about to light his pipe and barely noticed to wooden piece drop from his mouth as his eyes widened.

That was it.

Ignoring a stray dog which had come swiftly by and picked up the pipe rolling on the floor, the Marquis felt some of his anguish subside as a seemingly revelatory thought began to grow inside his mind.

If there was only so much time, then the only thing he had to do was….. wait.

Unlike Gaston, the Marquis had the advantage of being a Marquis! No matter what happened, he would have no trouble approaching the girl if he wished to, even if she turned out to be more than a pauper's daughter. Only….

The Marquis slumped back down onto the hard stone bench as the fountain continued to splash water behind him. Damn it…

He would inevitably be faced by the rest of French society as competition. Scores of families would no doubt want to take advantage of the situation, regardless of whether she was wealthy or not, seeking to make impressions upon the girl as soon as possible. The Marquis turned around dejectedly and looked down at his own reflection in the disturbed water of the foundation.

He had a good enough nose and his chin was of good stature but the Marquis was not blind.

He had grown up in the midst of the Prince after all and he knew as far as appearances went, he did not stand a chance at the debutante balls. No, his only way was to approach the girl just as Gaston's tactic was to do so. Unlike the local village hero however, the Marquis could approach Belle as a friend. He had the added advantage of being a stranger. Yes…. That could work-

"Aaaaaahh!" exclaimed the Marquis, his voice rising in pitch as he saw a dark figure approach his reflection from behind. Unwillingly slapping his hand into the murky water, the Marquis promptly began to lose his balance.

"Who on earth-" he continued to screech as he turned around to face his opponent who was looking down at him with raised eyebrows.

"D'Arque," breathed the Marquis as he stood up to face the elusive man, who was clad in a dark coat with a stern look on his face.

It was the first time they had come face to face, but judging by the way the elder man's dark eyes were staring at him rather unflinchingly, it was not unwise to guess that the debt collector already knew who the Marquis was, which would not serve him well.

After days of searching, he had finally found D'Arque but he was most unprepared.

"You know my name sir?" uttered the silver-haired man, his eyes still firmly on the Marquis.

"How could one not?" replied the Marquis hastily as he got up, brushing off the dust which had collected on his lap and, ignoring the wetness around his sleeves as he stretched out his hand. "You are well known around these parts."

"And yet," replied D'Arque slowly, scrutinizing the Marquis' appearance as he ignored his outstretched hand, keeping his own firmly held behind his back. "You do not seem like an individual who comes from these parts. Excuse me sir, but are you possibly lost?"

"That I am not," replied the Marquis, trying to keep his voice as light as possible. Better to seem unassuming. "I was just passing through this area and thought I would take a look around."

"Well, I'm afraid you will not find much to entertain you here sir," said D'Arque swiftly as the Marquis looked on in bewilderment as the dog from before approached a tramp sitting by the doors of the tavern beside the square and dropped the Marquis' decorated mahogany pipe carefully into the said man's lap.

"Is that so?" questioned the aristocrat, reverting his hard gaze back towards the debt collector, becoming increasingly disgruntled. "Well, I have heard some interesting rumours circulating these parts."

D'Arque lifted his eyebrows but kept his mouth closed. The Marquis fought to not sneer at the man before continuing.

"Yes, I heard that one of the villagers here might turn to be more than a mere pauper."

He tried his best to speak breezily as to not arouse any suspicion in the old man but this was the only way to pose the question which Gaston desperately wanted the answer to.

"Really? Have you heard this from our Duke possibly?" asked D'Arque, much to the Marquis' surprise. Nevertheless, the aristocrat narrowed his eyes. It could be a trick question.

"Perhaps," replied the Marquis lightly, not giving anything away. "I'm afraid it's really not my position to disclose any further information. After all, I do not know you sir."

"This is true," said D'Arque rather flippantly as he turned around and walked towards the tavern, leaving the Marquis to be standing, rather dumbly, in the middle of the square.

The Marquis watched silently as D'Arque swiftly asked for the Marquis' pipe from the tramp on the floor. The beggar did not argue, even as he begrudgingly gave the debtor collector back the pipe and grumbled about injustice before giving the Marquis a sideways glance and moving from his position by the doors to further up the street.

"But I know who you are sir," replied D'Arque as he came back, polishing the pipe with a handkerchief before returning the prized possession back to the Marquis.

The aristocrat froze as he was about to thank the debt collector and looked up sharply. They were both still holding on to the pipe.

"You are the Duke's cousin, Jean-Armand, the current Marquis de Bayon," continued D'Arque flatly. "I know you have been talking with Gaston and I know what both your motives are."

The Marquis finally allowed himself to narrow his eyes as he took a deliberate step forward and glared at the debtor collector.

"You are very bold to attempt to threaten me peasant," snapped the Marquis as he pulled the pipe towards him. "But judging by your rather defensive words, I think I can make a rather safe judgement and say that that girl is far from a simple farm girl. Am I correct?"

For the first time, the debt collector looked visibly shaken, as if he had expected the Marquis to remain the brainless idiot he had being depicting himself to be mere seconds ago.

"Whatever it is you are scheming, it will not work," said D'Arque in a cautionary voice as he let go of the pipe and took a step back. "You cannot take advantage of this situation."

"We shall see," replied the Marquis as he replaced his pipe into his side pocket. "In any case, we have already begun and you just don't know it yet."

D'Arque blinked as the Marquis turned away, satisfied by their conversation, however brief. He had got the confirmation he needed and he no longer had to rely on Gaston's word for it.

"So long, Monsieur D'Arque," said the Marquis as he boarded his horse which he had left by the tavern. "I suspect we may see each other again at some point. Until then, please work hard to prove that girl's true parentage. Au revoir."

The Marquis enjoyed the rather confused look on the debt collector's face as he turned away from him. Unlike Gaston, he had plenty of options. And he was going to take advantage of that, as soon as possible.

…..

The encounter had stirred something in D'Arque as he turned away from the despicable man who was riding away from him. It would be easy to say it was pure anger, but it was something akin to concern.

No, worry.

While he had resolutely told the Marquis that whatever plans he and Gaston had concocted would prove fruitless, within himself the debt collector was not so sure. The man was a Marquis after all, which meant there was very little a mere debt collector could do to stop the man. He couldn't interrogate him, that was not an option.

Yet, thought D'Arque as he turned away from the village square and walked slowly towards the outskirts of the village, he couldn't help but come to the conclusion that there was no doubt in his mind. Those two men were behind the fire that had occurred in the castle during the summer.

Not long after D'Arque had first started checking on Maurice and Belle, he began to hear murmurs of Gaston wishing to marry the girl. And then when Belle had refused him, D'Arque noticed a couple months later a portly gentleman of considerable wealth meeting with Gaston frequently in the neighbouring town's rather deserted tavern.

The one comfort D'Arque could at least take was that they had not suspected he knew of their association with each other up until this point. Until he had just blown it.

He ought to have kept that to himself.

D'Arque sighed as he passed Maurice's humble cottage and carried on out into the fields which surrounded the village.

He was tired, that was the truth of it.

Yet he couldn't help but feel concern for what the two men had planned. He wanted to protect Belle, but the only way he could truly set her free was if he-

"D'Arque."

The elderly man felt a slight gasp escape his throat as he looked up.

"Gaston," he muttered as he left his heart lump in agony. As if having to deal with one scheming scoundrel wasn't enough…

Leaning against the back of an old oak tree, Gaston was staring at D'Arque with a dangerously nonchalant look on his face, a pair of binoculars in hand.

"I see you have been speaking with the Marquis de Bayon," he started, pushing himself off the bark and walking slowly towards the debt collector. "Although I don't think you paid him the respect that ought to have been demanded, seeing as he is so far above your own station in life."

"And I see you do not respect the concept of privacy sir," replied D'Arque, undeterred. "What happened between myself and the gentleman is our business, not yours."

"Are you sure about that?" questioned Gaston, his voice sounding a little hoarse as he came to stand in front of D'Arque, the breeze beginning to pick up. "I saw you were threatening him and I don't think it was about how expensive the eggs in the market have become. What would lead you to conduct such behaviour?"

When D'Arque refused to answer, Gaston carried on, enjoying their little game of cat and mouse, aggravating as it was.

"You know very well my intentions with Belle. I will have her for my wife. So, you must understand… I will not let anything nor anyone jeopardize my plans in marrying her. You once belittled me for not proposing to her while she was at… The current Duke's castle. I understand, you are not from these parts and it is for this reason and this reason alone that I did not punch you to a pulp for disrespecting me so foolishly. You should know by now however, that I am not someone to be trifled with. So, I will ask you just this one time… What is the reason behind your sudden fascination with this pathetic village? Or more specifically, with a certain damsel living with a quaky father?"

The two men stood toe to toe but neither budged. D'Arque remained stoic, not giving anything away, whether it be verbal through his voice or visual through the expression of his face.

Gaston, known for his impatience, turned around in frustration before facing the debt collector again, pointing his finger accusingly towards him as he gritted his teeth.

"I know you know something," growled Gaston, his gaze unwavering as his dark hair was swept up by the tumultuous wind. "And if you care to keep that head upon your shoulders, you'd best make sure that you don't get in my way."

"You would threaten me?" spoke D'Arque finally after what seemed an age. "If you cause any harm upon my person that would not bode well for you either Gaston. The Marquis is one thing but you and I are on the same level. In fact, as a debt collector, any physical abuse inflicted will lead to your imprisonment. Judging by the expression on your face however, I see that you are well aware of that."

"It doesn't mean I can't threaten you," snarled Gaston, who, without warning, brandished a silver knife from seemingly out of nowhere and pushed D'Arque up against the oak tree he had just been leaning on. Turning the knife slowly towards the man's neck, Gaston glared at the debt collector with a strangely cool gaze.

"Gaston-" exclaimed D'Arque but Gaston responded by pushing the knife down slightly, leaving the elder man to feel the cold tip of the blade against his throat which immediately silenced him.

"You had every chance to speak but did not take it," said Gaston hoarsely as a grim smile appeared on his face. "Do you think I care? No one would believe you if you went screaming into the village professing I had attacked you. This is not Paris dear D'Arque and reputation goes a long way. I have this village wrapped around my little finger and out here in the fields no one can see us. So, you will tell me what you know about Belle and her father right now, do you understand you old cretin!"

D'Arque took his time to reply but reply he did. He did not wish to die over this.

"Very well," he breathed as he gestured for Gaston to lower the knife. In response, the young man lowered it.

But only slightly.

"It is possible Maurice could be able to free himself from his debt situation," continued D'Arque reluctantly as he avoided Gaston's menacing gaze. "It came to my attention when I discussed with him his situation and what his options were. He muttered about his wife's family but that she had been cut off when she had married him. I asked him whether he knew the family, but he said by the time he met his wife she had already separated from them and had never told him about them. It was her choice not to discuss it and he had honoured that choice."

"So they were aristocrats, is that what you are saying?" replied Gaston urgently as the debt collector noticed a horse and it's rider approaching them from quite a distance.

"Possibly," replied D'Arque carefully, trying to time his words slowly. "It is taking me a while to find out all the relevant information. Most unusual that Maurice did not know even the name of the family, but it must have been an incredibly miserable one if his wife had felt her only choice was to run away. There are a couple names I am looking into currently but I cannot know for sure at this moment-"

"Gaston! What are you doing?"

D'Arque sighed in relief as Gaston turned around in response to the sound of the Marquis' voice calling across the plain. He did not give away too much, only that which Gaston wished to hear.

"These names," continued Gaston, swerving his head back, much to D'Arque's alarm, "are they well-known?"

"I cannot be sure there is any true connection as of right now-"

"Gaston what is god's name do you think you are doing?" bellowed the Marquis as he leapt off his horse with the grace of an elephant. "Are you trying to shoot yourself in the foot by threating him?"

"There's no need to fear," replied Gaston, his tone immediately switching to that of charm and carefreeness as he let go of D'Arque and stepped down from the roots of the tree. "I have got all the information I need. At least now we are all on the same page."

"What did you tell him?" asked the Marquis, looking wearily at D'Arque and then back at Gaston.

"Nothing really," scoffed Gaston, who was now smiling at D'Arque with that cheshire grin of his. "But he has let me know how far he is progressing."

"The only reason you have any interest in this matter is because you think there is a pot of gold at the end of all this!" exclaimed D'Arque as he straightened his coat, preparing to leave this little assembly as soon as possible.

"There is that, I'm not ashamed to admit it," replied Gaston, surprising D'Arque with the ease of his admittance. "But I have always wanted Belle for my own, long before I noticed you first sneaking around our village. I know you disapprove of me D'Arque, but I will treat Belle well when I finally get possession of her. Besides, she'll be better off than where she is now, staying in the horrendous prison of a place. It was quite clever of you to place her there I have to say, but you didn't quite think it through, did you?"

D'Arque had been avoiding Gaston's eye, walking determinedly away from the two odious men but his final comment stopped him in his tracks.

"There's a bigger monster in that castle and you know it," continued Gaston as D'Arque looked at the dark forest which lay beyond the hill. "You are most naïve when it comes to the Prince. You underestimate what he is capable of. I fear you may regret that one day. For both Belle's sake and mine, inform me first when you find out the truth behind her heritage. If not, the consequences will be dire for you, I can promise you that. Do not underestimate me any further old man."

D'Arque did not look back as he made his way down the slope and he was grateful that the two men did not chase him any further.

What a day.

Lifting his hand, the debt collector patted his chest, feeling immediate relief upon hearing the sound of parchment crinkling beneath the soft material. He had received a letter from one of his associates in Paris. He had not lied to Gaston but things had actually progressed much further than the oaf knew. Finally, they had found a death certificate. He knew the name now. They had proof.

Looking grimly towards the village of Villeneuve, D'Arque turned away to look beyond towards the outskirt as the skies turned dark.

But it still wasn't enough. He needed more information. Which meant he had to go back to Paris, he had no choice.

But what to do with Gaston… Looking up at the oak tree, D'Arque saw it was now deserted but this only disconcerted him even more.

He could not stop them from carrying out whatever it was they were planning next. But as long as Belle was in that castle, no matter miserable it might be, Gaston could not get to her; he could not blackmail her or use any other odious strategies to get her to marry him. Luckily the Prince was the reason why Gaston would never dare approach the castle; he had too much pride to face him. Thanks to his secret source of information, D'Arque had been able to find out Gaston's past and his weak spot, utilizing it to his advantage.

Even so, Gaston's last words troubled D'Arque. If what he said was true, then he truly needed to hurry, even though Paris was so far from Villeneuve.

It was a race against time and he didn't have a moment to lose.


	24. Chapter 24

Author's note: A shorter chapter this time but only because the next one is going to be rather explosive. Again, apologizes for making you all wait. You are the most patient readers I have ever known. Somebody told me recently that they got confused with the Prince's title. I know that 'Prince' is meant for the future successor of a Dukedom and as Adam is now the Duke with his father dead, the servants and I should not refer to him as a 'Prince' but I hope I can continue to use both titles because it makes things easier! I hope you all agree. Stay tuned as I hope the next will come soon. Happy Reading everyone!

Chapter 24

While Gaston and the Marquis squabbled about what to do next on top of the hill by Villeneuve, the Prince meanwhile circled about his own grounds, deep in agitation.

Looking down at the soft grass he was treading on, the young Duke felt his stomach plummet to the ground.

Simply put, he had made a terrible mistake.

He'd helped Belle escape from the West Wing.

That was his first mistake.

He'd called her 'blindingly beautiful', something she absolutely could not have mistook to mean anything else, no matter how naive she was.

Second mistake.

And after speaking with Cogsworth, he had let the blasted guard go free, which would no doubt cause confusion for all the staff, prompting them to spread gossip about his sudden change in attitude.

Looking up at the deserted grounds, the Prince let out a sigh of despair.

By gods, if the expression on Belle's face when he had absentmindedly taken hold of her hand didn't state the obvious, he didn't know what did.

Third mistake, he noted feebly as he lifted his arms in defeat before kicking the heel of his leather boot into an unfortunate patch of grass under his feet.

There was no doubt of it. Belle must know by now that he, at the very least, felt something for her. Yes, when they had first met, he had spoken quite clearly about his interest but surely, she knew he had hardly known her then. Nor did he recognize the man in that ballroom anymore.

Surely, she knew that what he felt for her now was… What he felt was…

He didn't know what it was but whatever it was, he knew would create severe problems in the future.

Pulling his fingers through his hair roughly, the brooding Prince started walking again, unaware and, indeed, not caring where it was he was heading.

Thinking of Belle and the conundrum he was faced with, the young man forced himself to take on a different perspective.

Her perspective.

In that particular department, he held no questions at all. He was confident in knowing what she thought of him. She had made that abundantly clear. But being in such close proximity to the creature had led him to wish for Belle to see him less as the brainless tyrant he had so far unwittingly painted himself to be, and more as a human being.

If he were even capable of being one, he thought to himself darkly, as he recalled the way he had spoken about his family's scandalous history.

His images of seeing them forming a bond were tainted by the fact that he was becoming aware he was the reason for her suffering.

He was the reason why she had to stay in the castle, the threat of debtor's prison constantly roaming above her head. And as much as he wanted her, he knew she could never accept to be his mistress, unlike his previous entanglements, which were far fewer than most people thought. The truth was he preferred to be alone more often than not.

No, he could tell she wished for something, something which could not really be given by anybody, nor described in a single word, something which lay beyond the horizon, beyond the present… If he thought hard, the best way the Prince could describe it was that she wished for freedom. The ability to fly away, to a better place...

Far away from him.

Letting out a frustrated groan, the Prince strode towards the maze that made up one half of the front gardens, wishing nothing more than to be left alone, outside where he could express his grievances out in the open without the danger of being overheard.

Honestly, he couldn't blame her. If he were in Belle's position, he too would wish for pretty much the same thing. She deserved to have all she wanted. And by gods, if he could, he would give it to her…

The truth was he had the ability to simply pay off her debts and send her back to her village, back to her father. He could do that but he knew, while looking at her as she spoke with so much passion about helping the surrounding villages, that she deserved more than to be cooped up in some derelict home, married to a butcher's son, raising ten children while tending to chickens in a depressingly small back garden. If she stayed in her village, that would inevitably be her fate. No. She deserved better than that.

Surprisingly though, thought the Prince as he turned to look up at his castle and then the rose gardens before him soberly, he understood that money and wealth was not going to resolve the issue.

He remembered how sad and miserable his mother had looked after having an argument with his father before forcing herself to look happy in front of society as she hosted some ball or event in the castle, the diamonds around her neck twinkling pathetically in the candlelight…

Unfortunately, the world being what it was, he didn't know he could give Belle that nebulous thing which he knew she longed for. Quite frankly, it would have been better that she had been born a man. She could have roamed free like Augustin then and done whatever she wanted.

The Prince frowned as the thought passed him by.

No. A selfish part of himself was glad that his prickly little librarian was a woman and he didn't want her any other way.

As it was, at least in the castle she was free, intellectually-speaking, and had the library all to herself. That was the best he could do for her, for now. That and helping the blasted villages since that seemed to trouble her so much.

Yet the nagging feeling at the back of his mind had not left him, even after he had personally let go of that ruddy guard. It wasn't enough… It simply wasn't enough.

He'd seen the sadness in Belle's eyes when she thought he wasn't looking today. The same sadness that still haunted him to this day…

All he wanted was for her to be happy.

But he knew he hadn't the ability to give her that.

He suspected no man did.

Looking up solemnly towards the warm coloured sky above, the Prince let out a deep breath before striding on towards the gardens.

Some might consider the Duke's reaction as rather perplexing; after all, had he not wanted the lady in question to eventually become aware of his feelings? Yes, perhaps, but not in this way, and not when he himself had not yet fully grasped what it was that lay between them. Something did, and it was something peculiar, but the last thing he had wanted at this juncture was to scare the girl when finally, they had reached speaking terms, despite all his various blunders. Though he would never admit it to himself, she was the only thing that lightened his mood during these most trying of times.

The sun was making its way across the sky and turning a gentler, warmer yellow as it began its descent. Walking through the twisted path that led to the middle, the Prince remained deep in thought as he kept going, hardly looking up as his feet already knew the way, having played in the maze with Augustin countless times during his childhood. A happier, simpler time until…

The Prince's thoughts were about to turn even more sombre but this was prevented by the sound of, what could only be described as a barn animal, screeching at the top of its lungs.

Striding quickly towards the source of the abominable noise, the Prince froze as he turned a corner, his eyes coming into contact with no livestock creature which had invaded his gardens, but rather two familiar faces, whose bodies were turned towards each other, utterly consumed by passion.

"Oh, my darling, I have been waiting so long to find a moment alone with you, to touch your beautiful lips and-"

"Well then stop talking and kiss me you fool!"

Tangled up together, the two servants stood in a tight embrace as they leaned against the greenery behind them, hardly aware it seems, of where they were, much less that they had been caught during their little 'séance de bécotage'.

Lumiere was the first to realize they were no longer alone as he turned to kiss Plumette's neck, making eye contact with the Prince before he could commit the act, his left hand spread firmly across her breast. Thankfully they were still clothed, although the Prince wondered for how long they would have been, had he not interrupted them.

"YOUR HIGHNESS!" he yelled as he pulled away from Plumette, who began to protest in anger before gasping in horror as she turned to look at her master, who was looking at both of them blankly, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

"You-Your Highness," she began to stammer but the Prince merely stared at Lumiere, who looked as if he was about to be executed for high treason, before glancing sharply towards Plumette.

Though he tried his utmost to keep a straight face, Adam was not a gentleman without a sense of humour, although if he said as much many would not believe him. The situation was rather amusing, and seeing their equally terrified faces was just as entertaining for the Duke. Given his current mood, he felt rather comforted to see that at least someone was enjoying themselves and succeeding where he was not.

As he turned to look at Lumiere, an intriguing thought entered his head.

In fact, they could prove useful…

"Your Highness, you must allow me to apologize for-"

The Prince lifted his hand to silence Lumiere, who abruptly closed his mouth and looked grimly down at the ground, no doubt wondering what on earth was going to happen next.

"There is no need to apologize Lumiere, you were using your time productively."

It took a moment for the dear man to react, most likely because of all the things he had been expecting the Prince to say, this had not been one of them.

"You-Your Hig-" he began to stammer as Plumette came to stand beside him.

"Please do not blame him sir, it was my fault!" she began to say as Lumiere turned to look at her in alarm.

"Ma Cherie, what are you saying?" he exclaimed before he turned hastily towards the Prince, who was watching them in silence. "Master, she is lying, I am the one to blame for this. It was my idea to meet her in the gardens, I lured her here to seduce her, to use her, yes, and-"

"What are you talking about?!" snapped Plumette, who shoved Lumiere out of the way so she could stand in front of the Prince and speak to him face to face. "I asked him to come here tonight, and in the first place, I was the one who started flirting with him, even though I knew the rule that staff were not allowed to form romantic attachments. I was the seducer, not he, and therefore-"

"And therefore, what I would really like to know is how you managed to succeed."

Silence befell upon the trio as Lumiere's look of horror towards his beloved soon turned into that of befuddlement as he looked to see the Prince smirking at the pair of them, a pleasant shade of amusement reflected in both of his blue eyes, which usually only represented that of nonchalance or coldness.

"Ex-Excuse me?" squeaked Plumette as she took a step backwards, forcing Lumiere to do the same, stumbling on the foliage behind him in the process.

"I want to know how you lured Lumiere, one of my most diligent servants, into your arms. I want to know how you managed to convince him to break the rules. If you tell me, I will let you both go."

Lumiere and Plumette stared at the Prince in silence as they attempted to process what was happening. As amused as he was, the Duke was still an impatient man, and seeing the pair of them looking at him utterly unresponsive, he proceeded to let out a frustrated growl before pushing past them obstructively, walking further into the maze.

"If you do not wish to lose your positions right now in the middle of this maze, you will follow me."

After overhearing a series of squabbles, the Prince was thankful to hear them following him from behind. What he was about to ask of them he did not wish anyone to hear. Quite simply, if it were to get out, it would be the death of him.

As they reached the middle, they were greeted by a fountain surrounded by a stony surface, allowing one to be able to sit around it and enjoy the view of waterlilies. The maze shielded most of the sunlight from entering and the cool night air was beginning to filter through.

The Prince promptly sat himself down by the fountain while Lumiere and Plumette remained standing. He observed them both silently, partially for his own amusement. They had broken the rules after all, as much as he did not mind it.

He had a reason for not minding today.

After a moment's silence, Lumiere, unable to bare the suspense any longer, opened his mouth to speak.

"Forgive me, my lord, but I must ask. Ar- Are you quite well?"

The Prince had been expecting Lumiere to ask such a question, so he merely stared at his servant silently in response, leaning forwards as he rested his arms on his knees.

When no response was given, he lifted an eyebrow.

"Right, of course you are well, forgive me," replied Lumiere hastily, aware only afterwards that he had answered his own question.

Plumette on the other hand, was staring at him critically, her eyes slightly narrowing. As the Prince turned to stare at her, he found himself becoming rather uncomfortable, as if he were being judged. This he did not like.

"Master, I suspect something is troubling you," she began. Despite her hard appearance, she spoke softly, which put him slightly at ease.

"Why do you say that?" he prodded, intrigued to know of her answer.

"You wore a sad look in your eyes, just then, when you saw Lumiere and I together. I only know one reason why somebody would wear such an expression."

"And what reason is that?" snapped the Prince as he avoided her gaze, instead looking down at his hands which he had knitted roughly together.

"You harbour unresolved feelings about someone. A lady I suspect," replied Plumette bluntly, despite Lumiere silently trying to persuade her to keep her mouth shut.

"You are very observant Plumette," he replied slowly after a moment. "I do not know whether they are unresolved but I do know that I am struggling to manage them. They seem to be getting the better of me."

"There's nothing wrong with passion my lord," replied Plumette brightly, prompting the Prince to look up at her hesitantly. "When it comes to matters of the heart, there is no point in trying to understand why or how. It just is. In such cases, it's better to embrace one's feelings."

"Even if it means breaking the rules," stated the Duke, a hardness in his gaze.

"Especially if it involves breaking rules," said Plumette, her dark eyes glinting coyly. "That is what love is all about."

"Who said anything about love?" replied the Prince bluntly, standing up perhaps a little too quickly and revealing his alarm at her use of the word.

Plumette merely smiled serenely back at him as he stared at her nervously, suddenly not so sure of what exactly it was he wanted them to help him with.

"You must excuse me sir, Plumette is rather romantic in nature and she made an assumption, please forgive her," said Lumiere hastily, stepping slightly towards the Prince.

"Apology accepted," muttered the Duke quickly before looking towards Plumette once more. "The lady in question… I do not think she likes me," he began, his voice coarse and rough as he closed his eyes, grimacing as he wondered whether he was making a huge mistake in confiding in this coquette.

"You do not know that sir," replied Lumiere rather warmly, speaking more openly for the first time since Plumette had posed her question. "Women are mysterious creatures. You never know exactly what they are thinking. To try and guess as much will only lead you to madness."

"I already feel mad enough as it is," grumbled the Prince bluntly as he sat back down in defeat and put his head in his hands. "I know how she feels. She does not like me, no, it's more than that, she despises me for what I am. I am sure of it."

"How do you know?"

The Prince was slightly surprised by the bluntness of Plumette's voice but he was not going to lose his resolve.

"I just know," he replied through gritted teeth, his head still in his hands. "When we speak I can tell she is disgusted by both my actions and what comes out of my mouth."

"Has she told you that she detests you, despises you, hates you?" stated Plumette, her voice plain, as if she were a doctor trying to diagnose him with an illness.

"No," replied the Prince begrudgingly after a moment.

"Then you don't know sir," replied Plumette simply. "Not until you _ask_ her."

Her voice alarmingly positive.

"What?" blurted out the blond-haired man, lifting his head to look bleary-eyed at Plumette who was walking slowly towards him.

Their roles were reversed now. She seemed utterly entertained to watch him slowly descend into misery.

"You ask her," repeated Plumette slowly, folding her hands in front of her skirts and smiling sweetly down towards him. He couldn't tell whether she was being genuine or spurious.

"That's not really an option for me," he began to say slowly, his voice ominous, before looking down at the ground once more. The Prince knew what his servants were probably thinking. 'Coward', most probably.

"Well, then the only option left available is for you to let her know how _you_ feel," replied Plumette simply as Lumiere looked warily at his counterpart, taking hold of her arm as a sign of warning. Her voice was soft but not without an edge of sharpness and this did not go unnoticed.

The Prince, though not appreciating her judgemental tone, could not stop the memory of the horribly awkward way he had taken hold of Belle's hand from entering his mind, and as such, he groaned out loud, no longer caring about how he must look, with his head in his hands, asking for advice about how to court a servant within his own service. Lumiere's flight of fancy was a well-known gossiper but she clearly was succeeding where he was not. He had no choice but to seek her assistance.

He reminded himself that he was not looking to chase Belle; he merely wanted to know how she felt about him.

Grimacing as he lifted his head, the Duke looked towards Lumiere, who was pulling Plumette's arm, trying to stop her from speaking anymore. As he stared at the pair, a strange sort of calm befell upon him and he turned to look curiously at Plumette, who was still smiling at him, the exact opposite to how Lumiere looked, utterly terrified that he was going to force them to leave the castle, given all that had happened so far.

Narrowing his eyes, the Prince let out a long sigh of resignation before facing the ground again. No doubt he looked like a boy with absolutely no experience, instead of the rake that most would label him as, the famously scandalous Prince, feared by all respectable society and every agony aunt of a debutante who he happened to come across.

To hell with his tattered reputation. It was going to end up going down the drain by the end of today anyway.

"I don't know how to do that," he stammered plainly, feeling the blood rise to his cheeks. "I mean- I do _know_ how to do all this, but- but I can't with this person, she would think I'd gone mad, she wouldn't understand."

Much to the Prince's alarm, Plumette came to sit down beside him. He was so shocked that he had no time to respond before she opened her mouth to reply.

"It's easy!" she exclaimed, lifting her hands in the air as her jet-black hair swayed in the mild wind. "You make her as comfortable and relaxed as you can, like doing something which would please her, whether it's sending her flowers or inviting her to dinner-"

"That wouldn't work, I- I tried that before and it didn't work, sh- she refused to come to me," butted in the embarrassed Duke, turned to look towards Plumette with a neurotic look on his face.

Plumette's expression turned from that of excitement into something more closely resembling sarcasm.

"That is because you did not ask her my lord, you _demanded_ she come."

Once again, the Prince did not miss the judgemental tone in her voice but on this occasion, he allowed it. He needed to know of his faults, he needed to know the truth.

"Right," he replied slowly, nodding his head in time with Plumette as she gave him an encouraging smile. "That was…. stupid."

"Don't worry master, we all make mistakes," chimed in Lumiere nervously. "I compared Plumette to a feather duster once and she didn't speak to me for a week!"

The Prince turned to stare at Lumiere blankly, who then hastily went on to say that thankfully she had forgiven him and accepted his blunder by the time the week was up.

"The point is sir," he continued, his voice wavering slightly, "you don't know what will happen nor how she will respond, no matter what you do. But I do not believe the lady in question views you so negatively as to refuse."

At this final sentence, Plumette swivelled her head to stare at Lumiere in alarm, her eyes as large as marbles.

"I have not mentioned the lady's name," replied the Prince carefully, "how could you possibly know who it is I refer to?"

The Prince waited for Lumiere to respond, but he merely stared right back at him, unable to come up with a reasonable answer. Then again, it was pretty obvious to everyone by now surely that he paid, at the very least, more attention towards one particular servant compared to all the others.

"Never mind," sighed the Prince as he turned to look at Plumette once more. "It's hopeless anyway. I don't even know what it is I wish to do anymore."

"If you can be honest with her sir, I promise it will help," said Plumette encouragingly as Lumiere nodded in agreement.

"Don't worry sir, I will arrange all of it for you," he chimed in as he laid a supportive hand on Plumette's shoulder, who in turn grinned up at her partner. "I will invite her to have dinner with you, that is the best plan. After all, I am an expert when it comes to matters like this-"

"No!" cut in the Prince, looking up sharply, his eyes hard, all the uncertainty from before now nowhere to be seen.

Lumiere blinked in surprise, taking a step back.

"No," repeated the Prince, this time softly and more introspective as he looked away from his servants and stared at something neither of them could see. "I think- I think I should ask her. Or at least, give her the option to refuse, which is what she most likely will do..."

"Why the sudden lack of confidence sir? You never used to have a problem asking any lady to dinner, in fact you could even manage to get anyone you chose into your chambers an-"

Plumette stamped on Lumiere's foot as silently as she could while the Prince continued to stare miserably at a nearby hedge. Lumiere glowered at Plumette with a confused expression on his face while she glared at him furiously.

"Sir, I understand your predicament very well," replied Plumette calmly after a while, turning to face the Prince as if Lumiere had not spoken. "I would suggest sending her a note, either I or Lumiere could give it to her, and she could respond in turn through written form. I believe this is the least stressful way of going about this business."

"Yes, very well," replied the Prince but he sounded unsure. "I would like to suggest tomorrow night, give her some time to think. I… I don't want to scare her away."

He was avoiding the stares of both of his servants, mostly because he felt severely embarrassed, asking _them_ for help. If the Marquis or even Augustine saw him now they would likely think he had lost his mind. As his thoughts converged with memories of his terrible time in Paris, Plumette's voice once more intruded, forcing him to look up at her. He was surprised to see she was observing him in an almost admiring manner and there was not a trace of judgement etched on her face.

"One word of advice sir," she said softly.

"Yes," he replied quickly, suddenly aware that he had never felt so anxious to hear what a _servant_ had to say to him before.

"Do not try to hide your emotions. If you feel nervous, then let her _see_ that. I promise you it will make her much more comfortable if she sees that you are as nervous as I think she will be. Women love to see honesty in a man sir, as well as charm."

She had spoken carefully, he noted, wary not to offend him. He realized this had probably never happened to him before; him wishing to know of his faults so that he could correct them. As long as it meant Belle could look him directly in the eye…

"Well, the 'charm' aspect seems to be becoming a bit of a problem," he replied gruffly, wishing Plumette to forget he had been hanging on to her every word. "God knows why, it has never been difficult for me before."

"Belle is… special sir," replied Plumette, taking her time to find the right words. "She is not like everyone else, not even amongst the servants. I can bet you right here without having to prove it that the same could be said if she were a debutante at a ball among those of your class. I don't wish to suggest I understand anything about society, not as a maid but-"

"You're right," breathed the Prince, interrupting Plumette as he heard her begin to stutter. "Belle is different. It seems wrong to call her a servant, a pauper's daughter or anything else. None of those descriptions fit her… She's too good for this world…"

Plumette blinked as she stared at the Prince, who, as if aware that she was staring at him, suddenly turned to smile sadly at her before turning away, letting the façade fall as he stood up, a brooding expression on his face as he stretched his arms and legs. It was only while he was performing this unnecessary act that he realized he had finally mentioned Belle's name within the conversation and unintentionally admitted to Lumiere and Plumette that they had guessed right.

"I will go back to my quarters now and write that note. Lumiere, come to the West Wing in an hour. I want you to give Belle my note as soon as possible so she has enough time to think."

"Of course," replied Lumiere hastily, too stunned to say much else.

"Thank you," said the Prince awkwardly as he looked at the pair of them, his lips turned into a grim line. "I must emphasize that I do this only to distinguish what is between us. I do not want to proposition her. If she asks you to confirm what our meeting is about, please reassure her by telling her this. Also, I'm sure I don't have to say it openly because you should _know_ this but er- please do not spread this around. For all intents and purposes, this conversation never happened."

"Of course, Your Highness, I will take this to my grave," replied Plumette, a pleasant smile on her face.

Taking one last withering look at them, the Prince soon quit the scene and did as he had said, returning immediately to his quarters to try and do one of the hardest things he had ever had to accomplish.

As for the two lovers, they turned towards each other, utterly speechless about the events that had just occurred.

Well, almost.

"He is in love with her, isn't he," stammered Lumiere, the question not really sounding like a question. "If he just had to speak with her, there would be no need to invite her to dinner. He would have no trouble telling her what he just told us. And he certainly never said 'thank you' before."

"I think it is more than that, darling," replied Plumette, her smile turning almost melancholy.

"What do you mean?" whispered Lumiere, sitting down to take hold of both his beloved's hands.

"I think he already loves her," replied Plumette, her expression turning grave. "And that spells great trouble ahead for our Prince."

"Why ever so?" asked Lumiere, leaning towards her with concern.

"Because he has never loved before cherie and I fear he will be changed, irrevocably, for forever. Only time will tell whether it will be for better or for worse."


	25. Chapter 25

Author's note: Ok… So this was supposed to be one chapter but in the end, I found it was getting two long so I have decided to split this in two parts. I hope that's ok! If things go as planned, the next bit should be up pretty soon, so stay tuned! Either way I hope you all enjoy this chapter and I look forward to hearing what you all think! As ever, thank you very much for all your support – someone mentioned I should make this into a book, so once I have finished it, I might do so (rest assured this is FAR from over hehe). Happy Reading everyone!

Chapter 25

There are times when one is in need of someone to talk to. Often the reasons are somewhat hard to comprehend but in most cases, it originates from the fact that a solution cannot be found. Sometimes it is because one cannot make their mind up and as such must seek the opinion of others which differs from their own. Unfortunately, even in this scenario, a solution is often not found. Nevertheless, this act is known to help with one's peace of mind, which, in Belle's case, was exactly what she sought.

Unfortunately, the young woman's options were limited. Augustine had been in a bad mood, Mrs Potts had been hesitant to hear what she really thought, and for the life of her, Belle could not find Plumette anywhere.

Realizing that she would probably have to sit with her musings for the rest of the day and hope they did not make her go stark stirring mad, Belle made her way slowly up the grand staircase after Mrs Potts left and walked towards the East Wing and the library.

By the time she reached the side gallery, Belle had concluded she was likely to spend the remainder of the day alone, solitary, with only pages of parchment as her company. This usually filled her with joy; she loved nothing more than to be left alone to her own devices but today was different. Today, something had shifted.

Luckily fortune reared its head to be in her favour and as she looked up grimly in order enter the library, she saw Marie standing by the grand oak doors, blocking her path.

"Marie!" exclaimed Belle in surprise, coming to a standstill.

"Oh Belle, I hope everything was ok with Mrs Potts!" replied Marie as she fidgeted with her skirts, her bright blue eyes staring at her in a neurotic fashion. "I was so worried something terrible had happened!"

"Not exactly," replied Belle plainly, her voice ever so slightly retrained as she pushed the doors open and gestured Marie to come inside. "A rather eventful morning, I should say."

"Eventful?" repeated Marie as she followed Belle, her voice hesitant. "I hope you weren't in danger though?"

"In danger?" exclaimed Belle in alarm as she turned around to face Marie. "Why on earth would I be in danger?"

Marie stared back at her in silence before closing her mouth abruptly and looking down at the ground. The library was closed off from the rest of the castle so one could hear a pin drop. It was clear to both women by the way Belle had reacted so defensively that they both knew who they were talking about.

"Have you been listening to rumours Marie?" asked Belle gently as she came up to the petite maid who's mouth began to wobble slightly.

"I didn't know you were aware of them mademoiselle… I don't believe in gossip, surely you must know I would never think ill of you! But we hear such awful whisperings, so after a while one does not know what to think-"

"It's ok Marie, it's ok, I believe you," replied Belle with a reassuring smile as she took hold of her friend's hands.

"It's just that some _things_ have been said and I am scared for you," said Marie as Belle led her towards a couple of ornate chairs sitting by a side table in front of a wall of bookcases. "I worry about your welfare miss, especially after what happened in Paris."

"You refer to the Prince and the ball he attended? And what happened to his mother?"

Belle spoke in a manner which suggested she was not really asking a question.

"Yes," replied Marie hesitantly as she looked carefully over at Belle, as if to try and see whether the librarian was upset with her words or not. "Especially, after what happened with his father and mother. The entire staff had not mentioned it for a long time, but the younger servants heard about the incident for the first time only quite recently after the Prince returned from Paris."

"And do you believe what they say Marie?" asked Belle, keeping her voice as non-judgemental as possible as she sat down and folded her skirt beneath her legs. "Do you believe the rumours about his father and the idea that the Prince purposefully pushed a lady down the stairs during the ball?"

Marie took her time to answer but when she did open her mouth to speak, her reply was short and concise.

"I do as you do mademoiselle, I do not believe in gossip or rumours and I try to keep an open mind. Nevertheless, at such times as these, I cannot help but worry for you. You are always on your own and today when I heard you were in the West Wing-"

The light-haired servant took a momentary pause before collecting herself. Belle felt herself begin to frown slightly. There was much more that Marie wished to say.

"I do not wish to think ill of anyone, not even the Prince," she began, her voice this time resolute and her gaze firm. "My mother often wore a sad expression whenever the Prince was around, especially after the death of his mother. It was almost as if she was guilty about something. Whenever the late Duke was gossiped about she would always defend him, even though everyone despised the man. She had no reason to believe he was not responsible for his wife's death but she never believed the rumours. When she died, she was given a proper burial and funeral by the Duke. For a long time, I thought it was because she had been working at the castle ever since she was my age, but now when I think back on it, I'm not so sure."

Belle blinked as Marie spoke her piece, aware that she could not mask the shock which probably was displayed on her face. With such a quick mind, it did not take the librarian long to guess that Marie's mother was probably the servant Mrs Potts had been referring to. If that were the case, then perhaps she could trust Marie and voice her own true concerns. It was clear however, that Marie did not know the truth. Either Belle's assumptions were wrong or Marie's mother had chosen not to tell her daughter anything about what happened by the grand staircase that night.

"Marie," replied Belle, filing through words in her mind to try and find the right way to explain the truth. Mrs Potts would not have approved of her telling the truth to others, but Belle felt Marie had a right to know.

"When I said I had an eventful day, what I meant to say is I found out about some pretty shocking things. And after what you have just told me, I believe you have a right to know. Now, I might be wrong, and if so, please stop me, but I think I am right."

"I see," replied Marie quizzically, who seemed thoroughly puzzled by Belle's sudden change in demeanour. "I am not quite sure what you mean but as I said, I am open-minded. I am happy that you trust me enough mademoiselle."

Reassured, Belle gave the servant girl a brief thankful smile before relaying to her all which Mrs Potts had told her. At several moments, it seemed Marie wished to speak but then chose not to, waiting until Belle had said all she wished to say.

"I think you are right Belle," she breathed after a moment's silence. "I do believe the woman Mrs Potts spoke to was my mother. Just shortly before she died, I remember the two women speaking together in my mother's room but their voices were urgent. There is no doubt in my mind now that _that_ is what they were speaking about."

Belle was wary to respond, for Marie seemed subdued, even a little disappointed. It was clear the servant girl felt hurt by the fact that Mrs Potts had withheld this information from her out of fear of gossip spreading.

"You understand Mrs Potts was working under the late Duke's orders. She had no right to tell anyone about this and your mother understood this as well."

Marie nodded silently in response and Belle waited patiently for her to absorb the information.

"Yet she told you," she murmured after a while, causing Belle to stiffen physically. "Why?"

Did Belle dare tell Marie the whole truth? That the reason for Mrs Potts' revealing words had been to help Belle understand the Prince's character? Marie noted Belle's hesitance and did not press her but after a moment she spoke. The librarian was once again fortunate because the young servant girl seemed to recognise something in Belle's expression which must have given away the answer.

"Of course, oh how silly of me," she breathed, sounding almost embarrassed while Belle sat silent. "Because of the Prince's interest in you, Mrs Potts wanted to reassure you. Well, I am relieved to hear that he is at least a much more decent man than we have been led to believe. It explains why he is so cold to us and why he has kept himself hidden away in the West Wing. To be made to feel guilty for something you did not do, based on the made-up history of your own family, that is truthfully not an easy thing to overcome."

Belle looked up carefully at Marie because she feared the young maid wore a sour expression on her face, based on the strain she heard in her voice, but instead Marie was looking at Belle with something akin to awe.

"But you did not believe it, did you? That the Prince was capable of doing such things?" she continued, much to Belle's surprise. "You did not assume the worst."

"I cannot claim that Marie," said Belle with a weary smile. "I must admit I didn't know what to think. The Prince himself did warn me many times of his reputation but I didn't believe it. Deep down I had severe doubts but when I heard about his father, I did hesitate. That was why Mrs Potts told me the truth. I think she didn't want the Prince to have another person looking at him in such a way."

"Not just that Mademoiselle, but also because she knows when the Prince has a genuine connection with someone. He is alone, isolated, which is not good for one's state of mind. She saw that you could do him some good."

"I don't know," mumbles Belle in response, finding the course of their conversation to be awkward.

"Don't be so humble miss," replied Marie, for the first time her voice sounding even a little stern. "You are a good person and intelligent. You could help him out of his pit of despair and help restore this castle back to its previous state of order and grandeur."

"I do not claim to know the Prince's mind," replied Belle carefully, avoiding Marie's positive gaze. "However, I will say I have noticed a few changes to his demeanour. He is intelligent, much more so than he likes to let on and if he were to use that intellect of his I believe he could improve the welfare of those in the castle and also of those out."

Marie smiled, as if recognising Belle wanted to move away from the topic. But then something then clouded her mind and she turned to look at Belle with concern.

"He has not done anything untoward, has he?"

"Untoward?" repeated Belle as she batted her eyelids.

"It is well known that you were in the West Wing today because he had sent for you. I even heard from some maids that he found you yesterday outside after hours at the edge of grounds. You must be more careful mademoiselle. The master may not be a murderer or violent man but that does not mean he is not without a reputation. He has not done anything improper, has he?"

"Oh," replied Belle bluntly. Their encounter from that morning flashed before her eyes as she remembered how he tormented he'd looked when taking her hand. "No, nothing like that."

Marie's concern grew into a bemused smile as she took in Belle's blushing expression.

"But you and he have formed a connection I think? Maybe he has even made his intentions known. I think so, judging by the expression on your-"

"I don't know what he thinks or what he wants!" exclaimed Belle as she stood up abruptly, her hands flailing by her side as she turned to look at Marie, an almost unhinged look in her eyes. "We speak about matters of staff, the castle, of the villagers' welfare, his opinions on hierarchy! We meet by accident, when a fire is raging in the castle or when we're about to be eaten by a pack of wolves! I don't know what people have been saying but even I cannot explain what it is! He is not my friend but not my foe either; he has saved my life twice and disagrees with everything that comes out of my mouth and yet he listens anyway! I cannot make him out and yet he seems to see through me as if I were a sieve!"

"A sieve?" repeated Marie as she stared at Belle with a blank expression on her face as if she had just seen the librarian morph into a fish.

"Yes, a sieve," replied Belle weakly, nodding as she flopped back into her seat. "Oh Marie, the man drives me mad. His mood is as volatile as the inside of a volcano."

In response to this remark, the maid began to shake with laughter and seemed to utterly lose her former concern for the librarian. Belle on the other hand did not find her own remark half as amusing.

"It's true!" she persisted as Marie began to burst out in laughter. "It's unsettling, one minute he is scolding me, the next complimenting me and then smirking at me! Whenever we speak I always find I do not know what is up or down afterwards!"

Instead of curing Marie's ailment however Belle's words seemed to only spur the maid on.

"I do not understand what is so amusing," continues Belle, her voice sounding like that of a young girl whose dress was being ridiculed at a birthday party.

"Oh, mademoiselle!" exclaimed Marie once she had got her breath back. "It is nothing, really nothing!"

"Well clearly it is not as it has gotten you into such a state," replied Belle sounding almost like Mrs Potts when she was politely scolding someone.

"I would rather not tell you at present for I fear it would merely worsen the situation!" gasped Marie as she took in deep breaths.

Belle narrowed her eyes. It was clear Marie was gaining enjoyment by HER remarks on the Prince and not from the Prince's actions directly. If Marie was unwilling to reveal the butt of the joke, she had no choice but to divert the conversation.

"Speaking of strange encounters," she began slowly, eyeing Marie like a piece of prey, the maid unawares, "I believe I saw Augustin this morning looking for you by the spiral staircase in the portrait gallery. He seemed rather ruffled."

Just as Belle had anticipated, Marie froze at the mention of Augustin and looked swiftly towards Belle, unable to mask her tense form or her guarded eyes.

"I believe you said you recognised him, when I saw the two of you in the hallway," continued Belle, giving a little smile which seemed innocent enough.

"Yes, yes, I, er, had not known him necessarily but, well, he did not recognise me nor remember the girl he used to spend some rainy afternoons with."

Belle's eyes pricked as she heard the slight sound of bitterness in Marie's voice.

No longer teasing, Belle poses her next question carefully.

"So you were more than a mere observer, you were childhood friends?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," replied Marie hastily, her eyes hurt. "It was a very short period between my mother's employment and the late Duchess's death but during that time he sometimes came down to the kitchens when playing with the Prince was not an option."

"And he played with you instead," concluded Belle, her voice gentle.

"Not that he remembers any of that now," replied Marie curtly, sitting up and swiping dust off her skirt as if trying to extinguish the air of childhood nostalgia which had begun to permeate in the room. "I cannot blame him. Why should he remember the likes of me?"

Belle stared gravely at Marie, suddenly feeling rather guilty in making her feel upset. If there was only a two-year gap between the two of them then that would mean Marie was mostly likely older than Belle, which surprised her somewhat.

"He has probably not forgotten," she replied, trying to remedy the situation. "It's possible he simply does not recognize you. Have you spoken to him about this?"

"No," said Marie uneasily as she shifted her gaze towards Belle. "When we met this morning outside the West Wing we did not speak about that. And I do not wish to discuss it any further with him as he clearly does not remember. In any case, it is embarrassing and of little consequence."

"Little consequence?" replied Belle in spite of herself. "But you were friends were you not?"

"I was nothing more than a toy or a pet which distracted him from his state of boredom, that is all," said Marie hastily, gripping hold of her skirt as her face began to redden. Clearly there was a lot more going on, perhaps they had been childhood sweethearts, if only very briefly, but Belle did not wish to make Marie uncomfortable and in any case, she had successfully shifted the conversation away from the Prince, which of course had been the entire point.

"I am not intelligent like you Belle, I cannot possibly hold a conversation with such people. He would not wish to waste his time with the likes of me."

The statement came out of seemingly nowhere and as Belle turned to look at Marie in alarm, she saw the maid was looking at her almost as if she thought she were a lesser being compared to those around her.

"That is not true Marie," replied Belle firmly. "I am a mere farm girl, nothing at all and I am here to clear my debts. Unlike you, I do not earn an income here. You also do Monsieur Mansart an injustice by saying such things. I saw the way he looked at you the day before and I know he is captivated by you. Believe me, he does not see you as a waste of time."

"Maybe not mademoiselle, but I am still not his equal!" retorted Marie, although she did not speak with an argumentative tone. "I am not like the ladies he no doubt usually mingles with. I am a maid with no education. I know how to sweep the floor and wipe the windows, but I know nothing else!"

Belle sat back, finally beginning to understand the true reason behind Marie's agitated state. It wasn't about Augustine. It was about herself.

"Are you interested in using the library Marie?" asked Belle, carefully to keep her voice nebulous as she saw Marie look longingly at a nearby bookshelf. "I would be happy to lend you whatever you wished to read."

"Read," repeated Marie, swivelling her head back towards Belle, her eyes like saucers. "Oh mademoiselle, I'm afraid I must tell you- that is, I am afraid to say, I cannot read."

Belle stared at Marie in silence as she heard the maid's voice being to wobble.

"I was never taught."

Nodding her head slowly, the librarian let out a long sigh. It was as if a dam had broken and all had been revealed. She watched as Marie's shoulders sagged, as if in defeat, finally giving in and staring down at the floor in shame.

After a few moments, Belle spoke, trying to sound as calm as possible, even though she was being to feel a huge well of emotion, as if she could burst into tears as any moment.

"You know Marie," she said, blinkingly rapidly as she looked up at the beautifully painted pastoral scene painted on the ceiling above. "I used to try and find ways to give myself purpose in the village where I lived. I tried many things but the one thing which truly filled me with joy was being able to teach the little girls playing in the square to read. It is power, yes, but it is something which can be given. Not something you can only be born with. So, believe me, if you will allow me, please let me help you. If you would like, I can teach you."

By the time she finished speaking, Belle's eyes were directed firmly towards Marie, who was staring back at her in awe. After a moment, however, she shrunk back into her seat.

"What if I can't do it? I am a grown woman already."

Belle had been expecting this question to arise and therefore was able to respond readily.

"I will be with you every step of the way and believe me there is no shame in learning now. The fact that you have a will to learn is an incredible gift Marie. Not everyone has it, whether they are low or high born."

Marie smiled in response, obviously satisfied with Belle's answer.

"Thank you, Belle," she replied. "That does reassure me a bit."

Just as our young heroine turned to reply however, a knock came to the oak doors, immediately disrupting their conversation.

As Belle turned to get up from her seat, Marie abruptly took hold of her hand, confusing her slightly.

"Please be assured mademoiselle, I will refrain from speaking about what you have told me about my mother and the late Duke and Duchess. I will not breathe a word of it, to anyone."

Before Belle could get a word in edge wise, the doors opened and Lumiere entered, carrying a silver platter in front of him, which seemed to have nothing on it, except for a small piece of parchment.

As the two ladies stared in wonder at the nervous state that he was in, Lumiere lifted the letter and presented to Belle without uttering a single word.

Confused, the young lady begrudgingly accepted it before turning to look at Marie.

Neither of them could have possibly known what was written inside, even less, the true intent behind them.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

He'd chickened out. He had failed to write on paper what he had truly wished to say, what he had promised both Plumette and Lumiere he would say.

Coward…

Of course, the Prince had felt his stomach plummet to the ground when he had written he wanted to speak to Belle about matters they had discussed before. Matters concerning the villages and their safety, the guard situation. This was not a lie but it was also not entirely the truth either.

"Idiot," muttered the young Duke to himself as he banged his head on the door before straightening his waistcoat and stepping out of the West Wing.

She had accepted, much to his surprise. But he told himself that if he had written what he ought to have, she surely would have not. This thought did not help calm his nerves, which were already rising very close to fever pitch.

Moving very slowly down the gallery, the Prince's thoughts clouded his vision, making him unaware that someone was approaching him from the opposite end.

"Well hello there, young master!"

Looking up sharply, the Prince let out an irritable huff as he took in the sight of the Marquis, who was strutting towards him. Now was not the time.

"What in the blazes are you doing here," he muttered in response as he narrowed his eyes. His cousin had put on weight since they'd last encountered one another in Paris. Silently he thanked Lumiere, who had laid out a set of attire for him to wear that very morning and who had also persuaded him to trim his hair and shave his beard, making him at least partially presentable.

"I thought I'd come and see if you were around," replied the Marquis. "I actually came yesterday but they said you were occupied. I ran in Augustin though, who seemed to be having a jolly good time with one of your maids."

The Prince did not react to this; instead he looked away and walked past the Marquis, clearly disgruntled. He knew perfectly well his cousin had come here with a purpose in mind and it was not to see to his welfare. His sudden appearance was suspicious and the Prince still remembered how his dear cousin had not offered his support immediately after his ordeal in Paris.

"You came here unannounced. I do not appreciate that."

"Oh, stop being so glum!" said the Marquis in an exasperated manner as he tried to catch up with the young Duke, who had begun to walk briskly down the gallery again. "I came to see if you were alright. Do you know what they call you now in Paris? The 'Phantom Prince', as if you had vanished into thin air!"

"It's an apt description, I cannot fault them on that account," replied the Prince sharply, not turning to look at his cousin, who was hastily dragging his stiff limbs behind him.

"Come, come, Adam, I know you miss it," stated the Marquis as he gazed at the new Duke with that unnerving gaze of his. "Or perhaps you have found something more attractive here that keeps you occupied…"

When the Prince offered no reply, the Marquis smiled, his mouth turning almost into a snarl.

"Oh I see, so I _have_ landed on the truth of the matter. I don't think I have to think very far to guess who it is. She is of a good sort I must say, as far as servants go. Very pretty. You could always make her your mistress, but then again, it is sad she must stay here to pay off her debts. That is where you and I differ I think. If I were in your position, or Augustin were, I am sure we would pay off her debts ourselves before the week was out and let her return to her village. She must miss her family, having suddenly been whisked away from whichever rat-hole she originally came from."

Adam's pace slowed down as he listened to the Marquis. The nauseating feeling which began to creep at the pit of his stomach indicated only one thing. As much as he hated to admit it, his cousin was right. Not that Belle's village was a rat-hole of course not. But all those excuses, they had been to cover up the fact he was indeed selfish and simply wanted Belle to stay. He wasn't thinking about her best interests, he was thinking about his own.

Or rather his desires.

"You needn't trouble yourself to think about her welfare cousin," replied the Prince, cooling his gaze as he began marching down the corridor again. "She and I have no connection to each other."

"You saved her life, the night of the fire," replied the Marquis smoothly, glancing toward his cousin with a misleading sense of nonchalance. "You seemed pretty concerned about her welfare then."

The Prince narrowed his eyes before stopping completely and turning around to face his sly cousin properly.

"I do not know what you have heard, but whatever it is, it is not true. I am not really in the right state of mind to receive guests at this precise moment, so if you don't mind, I would like you to leave Jean."

The Marquis' gaze transformed and became just as closed off as the Prince's and his mouth turned stern, almost sinister.

"I know when I am not wanted," he replied slowly, straightening his back and lifting his chin high before turning to leave.

The Prince let out a silent sigh of relief and looked down towards the floor. Just as he thought their conversation was over however, the Marquis turned to look at his cousin one last time.

"I meant what I said Adam," he said, his voice strangely quiet, a weird contrast to his usually boisterous nature. "If you care about this girl, which I think you actually do, despite your protestations, the least you can do for her is to pay off her debts and send her back to her village. Men like you and I do not make mistresses out of maids and servants. It muddies the pool. I'm sure your father must have taught you that a long time ago. Come back to the real world and be the Duke you're supposed to be. When you are ready, I will see you at Versailles."

With a tip of his hat, the Marquis turned away, leaving the Prince standing alone in the middle of the landing with his fists slightly clenched at his sides.

He was right of course. That was the annoying thing. Every blessed word his pompous cousin had just uttered was true. Besides, Belle didn't view him that way, she would never accept such a proposition. The reason for their dinner was simply to work out how she felt about him, that was all.

He couldn't help it. He had to know, before he sent her away. To know whether she ever felt anything when he'd spoken to her.

He just wanted a moment, a minute longer with her. That was all….

….

Time had slipped through her fingers like sand, and as Belle nodded towards Mrs Potts and followed her out of the kitchens, she mentally prepared herself for what was to come.

Of course she was a more than little weary because she did not trust that she knew what was to come.

Thinking back to the ominous note the Prince had sent her, Belle realized, as she lifted the hem of her verdant-like gown, that it was the first time she had been sent a letter, from him, or let alone anyone. Upon seeing the Duke's handwriting for the first time, she was surprised by how delicate and almost feminine in nature his penmanship was.

"Mademoiselle, please hurry, you know how His Highness hates tardiness in anyone but himself."

"Of course Madam," replied Belle as she quickly followed Mrs Potts up the spiral staircase, careful not to get her dress caught. She'd told Marie and Plumette numerous times that the gown they had chosen for her was entirely inappropriate for someone of her station but then Mrs Potts had come into her room and insisted it was completely sensible. It was hard to keep resisting against three very persuasively intelligent women.

Thinking again of the letter, Belle felt a tightness in her throat.

The Prince had taken no pains to make it clear to her why he was asking for her presence. After their talk about the villages, it seemed he had come to a conclusion and was asking for her opinion on the decisions he had made so far.

At first, Belle had felt overjoyed because his letter indicated he had listened to her ideas and was even considering them.

On the other hand, it sounded rather hollow, as far as invitations went. If the Prince had simply wanted to discuss these matters, Belle felt it highly unnecessary for him to have invited her to have supper with him. She had not forgotten the way he had phrased it the first time he had asked, or rather, ordered her to come to the dining hall.

This time however, he had asked her politely, and had even taken the trouble to suggest she reply to him also in written form, as to whether she would like to or not. He had also apologized again for his past behaviour when he had first spoken to her properly in the library.

So all in all, Belle was suspicious but nevertheless she had accepted because she appreciated his manners and his note. He was clearly aware of his past mistakes.

"Belle, are you alright? You seem a little flushed!" exclaimed Mrs Potts as they crossed the portrait gallery and made their way past the grand staircase.

"I do?" breathed Belle, touching her face subconsciously before realizing she had become lost in her thoughts. "Please do not worry Mrs Potts, I think I just feel a little hot in this gown."

Mrs Potts did not seem convinced by this reply but seeing as they were pressed for time, she did not comment and merely turned around, urging Belle to follow her quickly.

Of course the Duke's politeness wasn't the only reason she had accepted, thought Belle as she shook her head, telling herself off inwardly for her own foolishness.

Deep down she was curious to know why he wanted to speak with her and she couldn't lie, a part of her was terrified as well.

She still remembered what had happened in the ballroom when they had first met, and this time, unlike all the times before, they were meeting on purpose, both consenting to be in each other's company.

Yet another part of her battled against this fear because Belle could not forget the kind way the Prince had looked at her, that night many weeks ago, when he'd asked if he could have the copy of 'Much Ado About Nothing' she had been thinking of taking to her room. She couldn't forget how tormented he'd looked when seeing how disappointed she was because he would not let the castle guard go. The way he's look at her sometimes, as if he were almost afraid.

Belle knew, and she knew not how, but she knew she was safe with him. She knew he did not mean her any harm.

As she and Mrs Potts arrived by the doors to the opposite gallery, which stood behind the staircase, Belle registered that _that_ was what she truly feared.

Because then she could no longer fear him. That, more than anything, scared her the most.

"Now mademoiselle, I must return to the kitchens," said Mrs Potts, opening the double doors to reveal a salon before turning around to face Belle. "All you need to do is go straight through those doors into the drawing room. Lumiere will be waiting there and he will take you to the hall."

"Thank you, Mrs Potts," replied Belle, feeling rather nervous as if she were a prince about to be led out to fight a dragon.

"So beautiful," breathed the lady, sounding almost sad as she folded a loose curl behind Belle's ear. Marie and Plumette had styled her hair, lifting it all into a chignon with a twisted braid so the back of her neck was exposed. Mrs Potts had insisted she wear her pair of emerald-like crystal earrings, despite Belle's protestations.

She knew what the maids were planning, what they thought this was all about.

Belle had chosen not to tell any of them about her letter. She didn't really know why but for whatever reason, she hadn't wanted to.

"Off you go then," said Mrs Potts quickly as she opened the doors, blinking her eyes rapidly as Belle went through and gave a small wave back towards the lady before moving through the salon and opening the next doors into the drawing room Mrs Potts had described. It still amazed Belle to see so many empty, unused rooms in the castle, which, at least for her, seemed to have no purpose.

"Good evening mademoiselle," said Lumiere, who was standing just beyond the Rocco-style doors to greet her. "The master is waiting for you."

"Thank you Lumiere," said Belle a little wearily as she noted how pleased he looked as he observed her appearance.

"I will be with you at all times mademoiselle, not to worry," he said reassuringly before giving her a brief smile and walking towards the doors to the dining hall.

Taking in a deep breath, which was a little difficult, Belle walked slowly after Lumiere.

Everything felt surreal, almost as if she were moving at half speed, and she barely registered the footman who knocked on the doors before opening them, revealing a moderately lit room.

Belle felt her feet move of their own accord as she drifted inside, taking in the two place settings, which were not where she had envisioned them to be. Instead of being placed on the opposite ends of the long hall table, they had been placed together in the corner by the fireplace at the far end of the hall. The rest of the table was entirely bare, which made Belle feel immediately uncomfortable. Her eyes widened as she felt her heart beat rise; even her hands were being to feel clammy.

Tearing her gaze away from the place settings, Belle looked up towards the fireplace, where a man stood, facing away from her, his arm leaning against the mantelpiece, revealing that he had mostly likely been brooding there for at least a while before she'd entered. Rather inconveniently, a crystal vase hosting a rather large bouquet of garden flowers stood right in her line of vision, making it impossible for her to see his face.

Despite the brightness of the room, the fire cast a shadow against his silhouette. Unlike before, this time the Duke was dressed smartly, and he wore something akin to the night of the ball, although the navy, night sky blue of his coat was of a much more subdued nature. As he said nothing, Belle took the chance to observe him silently, the flames reflecting against the gold of his hair, his hands much bigger than she had expected, given the detailed finery evidenced in his handwriting. Next to the large fireplace, which he had to almost crouch down towards to lean against, he seemed much taller than before.

This moment of blissful silence was rudely interrupted however by the sound of the doors closing behind Belle and she flinched as she turned her head to see that Lumiere had completely deserted her. Narrowing her eyes, she let out a frustrated sigh as she looked back towards the fireplace only to find the Prince was no longer there.

Blinking twice, Belle stood still, still staring at the fireplace, not realizing that a figure was standing just to her left, looking at her with a rather amused expression on his face.

"Good evening."

Jumping at the sudden sound of the Prince's voice, which was worryingly close, Belle turned clumsily towards him, feeling rather stupid.

"Excuse me, Your Highness, I did not know where you went, it's these rooms, they are so big, you don't know your right from your left-"

Belle's voice died as she stared at the man standing in front of her. It was as if she was looking at a ghost or had been transported back in time.

Shaking her head, she took a small step back.

For the man who was looking at her now in a rather quizzical fashion did not look like the master she had grown somewhat accustomed to. The man was the spitting image of the Prince when she had first met him, all ethereal and smooth, not the rough and coarse bearded man of the present. His smile was just as crooked as before, his white teeth gleaming in the candlelight, and his golden hair had been swept back, not a hair out of place. His attire didn't help either, for it did nothing to hide his frame, which, as it was no longer hidden under a cloak, Belle could see was considerable and broad in nature.

The Prince took a step forward, leaving her nowhere to look but straight at him. To do anything else would have made her look foolish.

There was no avoiding the face, she thought as she sucked in her breath. That was the most jarring element of all. His jaw, which no doubt could cut like a knife, and his high cheek bones, were all that were needed to give him a rather haughty appearance as he stared down at her, his arms followed neatly behind his back. All trace of the 'Phantom Prince' from before was gone. There was nothing ghost-like about this very solid presence of a man.

"You seem to have lost the power of speech," said the Prince before turning away from her. "No matter, I am sure you will regain it soon enough."

The moment he spoke it was as if Belle awoke from a trance. There was a warmth to his voice which she had never heard come from this version of the Prince before and as she looked up, she saw him walking hesitantly towards the fireplace before pulling out the two chairs where their places had been set.

Belle let out what could only be described as a sigh of relief before walking towards the end of the table and sitting down, not, however, before giving the Prince a rather hesitant glance herself. She was rather surprised, perhaps even alarmed when he swiftly came behind her and helped push in her seat as she sat down.

"Thank you," she said, feeling rather awkward as she stared at the fine silver cutlery that she had only just been wiping this morning along with Marie in the kitchens.

"No, I must thank you first," said the Prince as he too looked at the silverware as he sat down, his cufflinks catching in the light and glittering as he moved. "You accepted my invitation, something I must admit I had not been expecting."

"Why would I not accept?" replied Belle, giving a small smile as she shifted her eyes to look at his smooth hands which were now lying on the table. "I have every reason to come and speak with you after our last conversation."

"Yes," said the Prince, but Belle noted he suddenly sounded rather uncomfortable. "About your proposition Belle-"

"It was just an idea!" she exclaimed, turning to look at him with embarrassment in her eyes. "A silly idea sir; if you would really like to improve their lives you ought to ask a professional, maybe Augustin or someone who has more knowledge than me-"

Belle was rather frustrated by the fact that the Prince seemed to find her words amusing, for he began to smile before turning to look at her with that unknowable gaze of his.

"I have already spoken to the heads of nearby villages," interrupted the Prince, his voice a drastic contrast to Belle's, in that his was calm and subdued. "They have all agreed upon my conditions, which include that in exchange for the defensive barriers, they would patrol the woods but only in groups and when there has been a sighting nearby. I have made sure they are no longer required to hunt the wolves down when there is no immediate danger."

"But sir, you only have a handful of guards here patrolling the grounds-" said Belle softly, hardly believing her ears as she stared at the Prince in astonishment.

"I have a towering border all around the grounds mademoiselle which will keep them out most of the time. As you told me quite rightly, the villagers have nothing to protect them. That is a disparity I wish to correct."

Belle closed her mouth, unable to form a comprehensive reply. On one hand she was delighted by the actions he had taken. On the other hand, she began to wonder then what exactly this dinner was all about.

Looking sideways, she saw he was looking towards the double doors, a grave look on his face. The Duke was every bit in appearance the shining, golden Prince one found only in fairy-tale books, but unlike before his eyes seemed darker, like they had seen things. There was still a slight hue of ruggedness about him; his hair was kept simply at the back and not in the current, fashionable way as was usually done by Dukes and Princes.

Fearing he would turn to look at her, Belle quickly looked away and stared down at her hands, which had become to fidget of their own accord in the safely hidden area of her lap.

Was he planning to proposition her? Was that why he was doing all of this? She was a little dumbstruck at first but seeing him now she began to feel that while he looked the way he used to, he was not in fact the same. Something had changed.

"I am very happy to hear you have made these plans," said Belle just as the doors opened and two servants came rushing in, Lumiere not far behind.

Perhaps it was just her imagination but she felt the Prince tense slightly as the servants came towards them and took away their plates, pouring wine into their empty glasses.

As Belle stared at her glass, she felt a little unnerved as the servants retreated, closing the doors behind them hastily. Quite honestly, she felt embarrassed to be served by them, given that they were her colleagues, and she had never had more than a drop of wine before. She feared she would not be able to drink what had just been put in front of her.

"You don't drink, do you?"

Belle looked up sharply to see the Prince staring at her.

"Um, no, I don't, not really," she stammered in response, mentally telling herself to try and get a grip. He was still the same man she'd spoken to two nights before. She'd just been thrown into a situation she was not familiar with, that was all.

Still, she had to change this situation and take advantage. If this kept going she wouldn't be able to say what she felt she needed to. If the Prince had come tonight with a plan, well, he was not alone.

After speaking with Marie yesterday, Belle had come to the conclusion that if she was to have the opportunity to speak with the Prince again, she wanted to know what he felt happened to his mother. Despite Mrs Potts' explanation, Belle still wondered whether it was true. After all, that had simply been her presumption, and she doubted anyone had ever actually asked the Prince about what he truly felt about the incident. This was perhaps the only opportunity she had to ask him about it.

"Would you like some water instead?"

Looking up again, Belle found herself staring at the Prince once more, who was looking back at her with concern. She was beginning to wonder what was wrong with her.

"Yes, that would be lovely," said Belle, finding her response odd but then quickly realizing that the fact the Prince was offering her water in the first place was what felt odd.

"Just a moment," he muttered before rising from his seat, leaving Belle to sit awkwardly on her own as he went to a side table and, with his back turned, poured some water into a crystal glass from a decanter she had not realized had been sitting there before.

"Thank you," she replied, finding the entire situation both ridiculous and surreal as the Prince responded by saying nothing but placing the water on Belle's side of the table before sitting himself down.

As they sat in silence, the grandfather's clock, which stood behind them, could be heard steadily ticking away the time they had left.

Closing her eyes, Belle gripped both her hands tightly under the table before shifting herself to face towards the Prince.

"Sir," she began, cursing herself because her voice came out sounding like a frog, "I saw a portrait of your mother in the gallery today. She must have been a very beautiful lady, if the artist who painted her had done her justice."

The Prince's mouth turned into a grim line, making Belle's heart sink. He was not in the mood, clearly, to talk about his past and Belle knew deep down it had been wishful thinking on her part to assume he would open up so easily.

"She was beautiful."

The Prince glanced towards her as he spoke the words and he looked almost wistful. Belle could do nothing but stare back at him in response, trying her best to not look surprised.

"Very kind, always considerate. Intelligent too and a keen reader, like you."

Perhaps it was the timbre in his voice but Belle felt her cheeks flush and without meaning to she scoffed uneasily before replying that in her church in the village she had only a few books to read so she could not call herself a keen reader necessarily.

The Prince probably would have given a reply but they were interrupted by the doors which abruptly opened. Belle watched with a keen eye as the warm expression on the Prince's face quickly died away and his eyes turned cold again. Unlike before of course, Belle understood now his behaviour and could not help but smile sadly as the two servants laid down their first course, chestnut soup. She mouthed a brief 'thank you' as they looked at her with concern. Unlike Marie and Mrs Potts, as far as they were concerned, she was dining with the son of a murderer. The Prince, for his part, continued to ignore them entirely, as if their mere presence angered him to no end.

As they left, Belle turned to look at the Prince and saw so clearly that he was indeed upset. It was not her place to discuss personal matters, she knew this, but she could not help but ask why he was so cold to the servants. She had to know if Mrs Potts was right, but most importantly, she wanted to hear it from the Prince himself.

"Why do ask this?" he questioned quietly as he set his spoon down onto his plate. The motion was fluid, almost subdued, which disturbed Belle slightly.

"I-," she began before clearing her throat and starting again. She had to get this right.

"I want to make out your character."

"I thought you already had," he replied curtly without looking at her, staring at the rim of his glass instead.

"Only what you present to the world," said Belle, not reverting her gaze like he was. Oddly enough she did not feel as much anxiety as she did just moments before. "Your outward self. But I think it is a lie."

"Careful, Belle," he replied, his voice sarcastic but underlined with something that sounded rather more defensive. "You may not like what you see underneath."

"I will be the judge of that."

The Prince looked up then and stared at her. He did not blink.

"So be it," he said gruffly after a while before beginning to tell the exact same story Mrs Potts had told Belle. The chestnut soup remained untouched as she listened and Belle realized all the conclusions she'd been told were true. His resentment did come from a place of love.

But that resentment was causing people pain, including himself.

It was not her place, thought Belle as the Prince continued to speak, explaining the staff's cold-heartedness and their lack of empathy. All this pain, for everyone, and for what? Belle began to feel frustrated, in particular she felt resentment towards the late Duke, who was longer here to voice the reasons behind his actions.

She believed Mrs Potts' words, she believed the late Duke's goal had been to create this disparity within the castle but it had led to nothing but misery.

Surely that could not have been his intention?

She should keep her mouth closed. Belle told herself this inwardly but at the same time she could not stop the cogs in her brain from moving. If the disparity between servants and their masters could be expunged, could the same be said about the villages and Dukes?

"My father just looked down at me from the top of the staircase and when the servants appeared they similarly did nothing. I was the only one who comforted my mother, even though she was of course already gone by then. They all did nothing and I was left to grieve on my own. If the servants had distanced themselves before, now they did so by tenfold. No one met my gaze or spoke to me. My father ignored me entirely. My friends were sent away. I sound like I am pitying myself mademoiselle and perhaps I am, but I cannot forgive them for what they did. I can forgive my father of course, but if I held any suspicions of what the servants thought of me and my mother, it was confirmed that night. This is why I tell you time and time again that there is no such thing as loyalty."

It would be hard for anyone to respond to such a speech. What could one say, especially while knowing the truth of the matter? Would it cause only more harm to tell the truth?

Belle found herself in an impossible position, but she saw that now familiar look of torment in the Prince's eyes, and she knew the future would be grim indeed for all concerned if she did not intervene.

Was it possible Mrs Potts had told her the truth because she secretly wanted things to change? Did she think Belle would tell reveal the truth? Had that been her true intention?

Our young heroine had angered the Prince many times before and it had always been because she had been reckless but always speaking the truth. This time however she would be doing something for the people in the castle, to help them be led by a Duke who was fair and stable in the way he ruled his county. Belle herself was not sure yet of how the Prince thought of her but if everyone else was convinced he cared about her opinion then perhaps she could try just one last time.

"Sir," began Belle, fearing her words would fail her, "have you ever considered that what you _think_ happened is actually not what actually happened? That it could have been different? That what you perceived as a child was a distorted memory, or-"

"False?"

Belle eyes widened. She had hit a thorn, she could tell, she could hear it in his voice.

Setting her spoon back on to her plate, she winced as their conversation came to a halt.

She'd made a mistake. One mistake too far, she could feel it.

"Why?" he continued to say, but she could not meet his gaze. "Why would you suggest such a thing?"

Now there was suspicion tinged in his speech. Belle cursed herself mentally as she realized she had been too hasty and blunt. She'd just made things worse.

"You've heard something," whispered the Prince as the conversation quickly turned into an interrogation. "Haven't you?"

Belle's eyes widened as she finally looked up at the Prince, who was staring at her in an accusatory manner, his eyes flashing with the pain of his past.

"No sir," she barely managed to whisper back, but this only seemed to make things worse as he got up, smiling bitterly as he turned away from her and walked towards the fireplace.

"Don't lie to me," he snarled as he turned his head slightly to stare at her. With the fire raging behind him and its flames reflected in his eyes, the Prince looked every bit the intimidating and malignant master the servants made him out to be.

"I'm not," said Belle, aware that she was only digging herself into a hole but still she was unable to stop herself. "I only want to say your mother might not have been pushed. It could have been an accident!"

"Who told you this?" snapped the Prince, swiftly turned around to face Belle, unable to decide it seemed, whether to approach her further or not.

"Mrs Potts."

"Well, she is lying!" retorted the Prince, gripping hold of the top of his chair tightly, connecting his gaze with Belle's before flinching and turning away. Despite appearances, his answer was not expressed with complete conviction, which made Belle wonder whether he had in fact questioned himself about this matter before.

It was clear this was an unresolved issue. No matter what his father, the late Duke, had ordered Mrs Potts to do, it was evident to Belle that the Prince needed to know the truth and then come to his own conclusions.

"She is not lying sir," replied Belle calmly, standing up as well, their dinner now long forgotten. "There was somebody there. Somebody who saw what happened."

"What are you saying this?" said the Prince hoarsely, still staring at the fire and refusing to look at her.

"Because of the way you treat the servants, sir!" exclaimed Belle, coming closer towards him as she found new confidence within herself. "It is not my place to say this, but I feel your treatment of them is unwarranted! They are not responsible for what happened!"

At this statement the Prince did finally turn around but for the first time Belle saw true pain written on his face, his eyes glistening. The conviction within herself immediately disappeared.

"Oh no, my father saw to that, but they did next to nothing which is just as big a sin! You think your class is so honourable, don't you, compared to my own? That we, the upper classes, belong in the pigsty compared to your lot! Well I will remind you mademoiselle, that my precious servants stood dormant while I lay there with my dead mother in my arms! How could you possibly understand?! You may be intelligent and I relented when it came to the villagers and wolves but this is an entirely different matter! You're just a peasant girl from a village, you have no right, no-"

The flood of words hit Belle like a tumultuous gush of wind and she could nothing but stand in front of the fireplace, listening to his words as his voice rose, heightened by conflicting emotions. She did not feel anger however like the times before. She felt merely sadness.

It took a moment for Belle to realize that he had stopped. She glanced warily towards the Prince and saw he was panting, staring at her as if he had just noticed she had been there.

As if suddenly remembering himself.

"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely as he continued to hold her gaze, quite clearly disturbed. His eyes flickered as if he were trying to process what had just happened.

"It was not my place to talk of personal matters," said Belle as she kept her hands firmly to her side, not wanting to stay a minute longer. "I should go."

"Wait!"

In a flurry of movement as Belle turned to leave, the Prince strode two steps towards her and stretched his right hand out as if to take hold of her arm, but just as she looked back at him this action faltered and he took a step away, as if he thought better of it.

"Please don't look like that," he stammered. "Not because of me."

Belle blinked, utterly surprised, and after a moment she relaxed, allowing the Prince to come towards her, a tenderness appearing in his eyes as he nervously shifted on his feet.

"My behaviour towards you just now was unwarranted. Please forgive me," he whispered quietly as he looked down at Belle. "My past is tainted. When it comes to my mother, I… I have always believed in what I thought happened. But it seems every time I speak with you, I end up seeing that expression on your face. And I cannot bare it any longer. I mean no disrespect mademoiselle, it's just a sensitive subject for me. Can you understand?"

"Yes, sir, I think I do," replied Belle quietly, her voice becoming just as subdued as his. She knew he hadn't meant what he'd said, he was merely protective about his mother, who had clearly been mistreated long before the accident which had taken her life. Belle knew his scathing words had meant nothing but still it pained her to hear them, despite their insincerity.

"I cannot bring myself to believe what you suggest but I cannot condemn you for your concern regarding the servants. As the optimistic creature that you are, I am sure you cannot help it."

He sounded like he was smiling almost towards the end and when Belle looked up her assumptions were confirmed. The flames that flickered behind him now took on a much more warmer hue and Belle thought it rather fitting. The Prince was like that, a contradictory man, at once both terrifying and yet filled with unexpected warmth.

He didn't make for easy company, that was for sure. He refused to believe Mrs Potts but as Belle observed him silently, she noted that even at his worst, his words were never without feeling. Unlike before, when she had once thought he did not possess any at all. Perhaps with time he would reconsider and re-evaluate his thoughts. But Belle understood that this was something he had to do on his own; she could not and had no right to make such decisions for him.

"Belle, how do you feel about me? Honestly?"

The Prince interrupted her thoughts without warning, and as she flickered her gaze up towards the man in question, Belle found her heart thumping rapidly and without a swift response to offer to him. The Prince quickly recognized her discomfort and hastily rephrased his question, unwittingly lifting his hand to weave his long fingers through his hair.

"I meant to say," he said rapidly as his eyes turned to alarm, "I'd like to know what my staff think of me. I cannot ask them but I think I can rely on you to be honest."

Belle pondered over his question, feeling rather uneasy. She turned away during the process of thinking and walked towards the fireplace and did as the Prince had done just moments before, leaning her elbow against the mantelpiece so she could think. People had assumed before but had never openly asked her of her own opinion of the Prince. Now that the man himself was posing the question, Belle felt rather perturbed. Why he wanted to know the answer she did not know but he seemed to be asking because he really did not know what the servants thought of him. It did speak to his character that he was asking for the unvarnished truth. There were very few people who could directly ask such a question. Perhaps it was because of this that Belle decided to reply as honestly as possible.

"You have saved my life, twice sir," she stated quietly, still looking into the flames, the memory of the night of the fire emerging within her consciousness. "You have a lack of understanding of the world around you, but you care to a substantial degree. You seem to be cold and distant, yet your mood sways like the wind during a storm. You have never dismissed my opinions but there is an immaturity to your character. You claimed to not care about this castle or its residents yet you put your own life in danger in order to extinguish the flames that threatened to destroy it all. You are something of a contradiction sir. I cannot make sense therefore of our first encounter but now knowing about your mother, I am starting to understand. The contempt I saw in your eyes, the hollowness, I am beginning to understand it was not without reason."

"Belle I do not feel contempt for you," replied the Prince, sighing deeply as he walked past her to stand beside her, his delivery soft compared to hers. "I'm just- I am a mess. I do not know myself and when I flare up in anger I don't control what comes out of my mouth, which is irresponsible, I know. I think you must know by now, but what I say is usually anything but sincere. This does not excuse my actions of course, but…"

Belle nodded but inside she felt troubled. He was too volatile, so much so she felt she could not keep up. Yet whenever he looked at her and smiled or gently whispered something, it sounded sensitive, in a way which she had never encountered with anyone else before. There was a subtlety to him which was jarring because he would fly into fits of rage at the most inopportune of times. It was easy to see how most would have trouble trying to understand his character. Belle had felt afraid at the beginning when they'd first met because he seemed so cold, with not a trace of warmth about him. He seemed empty inside and had desired to simply use and discard her, like a dirty washcloth.

"When we first met, you wanted to use me," said Belle, realizing only as she began to speak that this was another thing which she wanted dearly an answer to. "It was as if you cared for nothing, nor anyone. There was nothing there within you it seemed; you were inhuman. I saw not an ounce of empathy in your eyes that night."

The Prince's blue eyes focused on her as he turned, the light flickering across his features to make him look almost like a roman statue. He searched across her face as he had done many times before, but Belle did not mind this; she understood what he was doing. He was trying to find fear in her eyes but she would make sure he came away disappointed.

"Belle, I hope you can understand I am not that sort of man, despite what I told you that night. I was abrupt and I cannot apologise for my behaviour enough. I was in a bad way and cynical about everything."

The Prince paused, uncertain, as if he wanted to say something but feared how she would react. Realizing the conflict, Belle leant against the mantelpiece and said nothing. After a moment, seeing that she was waiting, he continued, as if he had come to a decision of his own.

"A viscount, who was near enough a stranger, had offered his two daughters to me during the ball that night," said the Prince, turning half away from Belle to lean against his chair, leaving half his face hidden in darkness. "He did so without a second thought, and it was fairly obvious it was because I was going to be the next Duke of Chartres. Barely a couple days had passed since my father's funeral but he didn't seem to care. Not that I blame him for that, I too held the same mentality. I was of interest because I had received a new price tag on my head. The viscount told me to use his daughters as I wished, to keep them as mistresses. You don't have to marry them, he said. If you can get them to Versailles, that's all I want."

The Prince shook his head as he pulled his right hand into a fist and pounded it softly onto the back of his chair, shaking the table in the process. He began to laugh, but it was unnatural, vacant, and it reminded Belle of the Prince she'd seen at the ball.

"That imbecile's voice stopped then but I knew what he'd wanted to really say. 'Get them to Versailles and _then into the King's bed_ '. That is what he had meant to say. I said, in response, 'your daughters aren't fit to serve anyone in this castle, let alone me. You would have more luck in a villager's marketplace.'"

Belle pursed her lips as she glanced towards the Prince, whose gaze was now upon her. He was grimacing despite the fact she had heard sarcasm in his speech. He had obviously seen the dismay displayed across her face upon hearing his belittling words but his gaze did not waver into guilt.

"I regretted my words instantly but not for the reasons which you may think," he continued. "I thought, I should have accepted them. That is my role. I bed these women to give them better prospects and by not doing so, I was disgracing my position. My father would have told me I was a wimp. I was harsh because that viscount disgusted me but I couldn't let him know that. Because it is what is done in this small corner of the world."

Belle watched as the Prince came out of the darkness to look at her directly, taking in her expression cautiously as he came to stand in front of her.

"I picked others instead, those whose bodies had already been tainted, who knew what they came for, who had made that decision for themselves. And then I came downstairs and I saw you. I thought, she's just like them, the viscount's daughters, innocent, blind…."

He paused and this time he did change. His voice became increasingly bitter as his expression evolved, revealing a hidden wretchedness which Belle knew he always carried around with him. She didn't need to look down to know their hands were awfully close to each other.

"And I knew you were the new maid, I knew it instantly," he continued. "I thought, why this creature? Why is she here? In this hell? And you told me as much. You saw through me, somehow, I don't how you did it. Of course, it wasn't a place full of angels and you knew that as well as I. But you were a maid. I thought, my servants would have told you about me, about my father, about the awful history of this castle. I had failed with the viscount but I wouldn't with you, I thought, what my father would do, what he would expect me to do. She would understand what would come next, I thought, as a maid she would know, heck she would welcome it. She would be like everyone else. Like the women who'd danced at the ball, like that viscount and his daughters, like all the maids before who'd begged for me to let them please me in exchange for wealth and titles."

He remembered. He remembered everything, thought Belle as she looked down, unable to handle the intensity of their conversation. He remembered the words she had spoken. But more than that, she was beginning to see the Prince of that night and the one that was standing in front of her right now were one and the same, no different from each other. Not a word he had spoken that night had been sincere. She ought to have guessed that by now, after all, he had told her himself just moments ago.

 _I do not know myself and when I flare up in anger I don't control what comes out of my mouth, which is irresponsible, I know. I think you must know by now, but what I say is usually anything but sincere._

"You stared at me as if to say no, that you were different," continued the Prince, his voice becoming more and more intimate. "That you were not like others and did not see the world like everyone else. You didn't see a Prince before you, you saw a monster."

Belle knew she could not avoid his gaze forever. Self-consciously she raised her hand and swiped a loose strand of hair behind her ear before looking up at him. She guessed his gaze had not wavered from her for quite some time.

"And when I met you again," murmured the Prince, "and I think every time we have met since, you have been trying to tell me that. Well, I see the monster now and I thank you for it. You woke me that night. So you can rest easy on that account."

"You're not a monster sir," she replied, her voice steady and real compared to his, which sounded so distant.

"No?" he replied quizzically, a mixture of sadness and sarcasm displayed on his face as he smiled at her. "I assumed you would come to my bed. I said it was punishment; all the maids knew my reputation. I would say that made me a monster."

"You are not a monster sir," repeated Belle, deciding to stop leaning against the mantelpiece behind her. "You know what you are. You saw it as punishment because you couldn't understand how anyone would possibly want to be with you, who you really were. All those women who were willing to throw away their virtue, to be sold off like cattle, you pitied them, even felt anger. They never saw you for who you were."

This time it was the Prince who turned away, preferring to be in darkness. He demonstrated as such by closing his fingers on the candles lit on the table, suffocating the flames slowly, in a way which would probably cause him great pain as the flames would burn the palm of his hand. Belle exclaimed in alarm and was about to tell him so but then he turned to stare at her as if he had not finished what he had wanted to say.

"Still," he uttered. "I told you it was punishment."

"Because you saw it as I did," said Belle, persisting. "As something not right. Something immoral, not to be excused. It has taken me a while sir but- your anger, your coldness, it's all directed towards yourself and this world that you live in. You did seem like you cared for nothing sir, as I said before. But I should also say, you did not care for yourself either."

The Prince did not respond and Belle saw that he did not want to accept it. Realizing that what she had said was not enough, she stepped towards him, even as he gripped hold of the table behind him and glared at her like a defensive creature ready to sink it's claws into her flesh if she dared to come any closer.

"You punished yourself sir," said Belle as she glanced at the Prince's hand which still held on to the last candle. "You still do."

"Because of my guilt?" he spat, looking down. He was getting tired, she could see it. Belle saw the ghost of the cloak-wearing, bearded man in this new, glittering Prince and knew they were one and the same.

"No, because you feel powerless sir," she spoke, stepping even closer. "You feel you have no purpose. Whether high born or low, we all feel this at times. Like…"

"Like what?"

Her voice had faltered because she had realized halfway through her speech that she was in fact talking about herself. Realizing her mistake, Belle turned away and walked away from their table and the fireplace. They both felt the same thing.

Belle heard the Prince lean off the table and she watched as his shadow crept across the room and towards her own, which stood still, until they joined together and she could no longer differentiate between the two, both becoming enveloped in darkness.

They felt the same thing… Like they wanted so much more than what others had planned for them.

"When I heard what had happened to your mother," said Belle because she could not stand the silence. "I felt you ought to know the truth, no matter how painful it would be to hear of it. It is better to know the truth sir. Then one can start healing."

Although she could not see him, she could understand through the sound of his voice.

"You think I haven't been healing?" he whispered and she knew he was awfully close.

"No, I think you have been burying your pain," she replied as her thoughts began to move erratically. She didn't even know what they were talking about anymore.

"Pain?" uttered the Prince softly before slowly turning Belle around to face him. As he had extinguished the light, only the fire was lit, masking the expressions on their faces. It did nothing to hide whatever else was evident through their other senses however.

"Who said I was in pain?" spoke the Prince again, and this time he did not sound like he was laughing or teasing her anymore.

Belle stared back at him and gave a sad smile. After a brief pause, the Prince closed his eyes as if he could not bare to look at her. His hands however, remained at her side and she could feel how gently he was holding her, like how one would hold an egg. Belle frowned as she registered the hurt she felt inside, but could not understand why she suddenly felt so disappointed.

"Belle…" murmured the Prince, his grip tightening ever so slightly, making Belle feel warm, "surely after what happened two days ago…. you must know…."

Belle's eyes widened as she looked up. The Prince's eyes were still closed as if he were trying to suppress something. His golden hair had come loose and some of it was hanging across his eyes, like it had been two days ago when he'd taken hold of her hand and looked at her in that nebulous fashion. Was he… Was he talking about what she thought he was talking about?

….

"Know what," she whispered and he knew she was not all ignorant. Belle had understood the moment he's taken hold of her hand that day in the gardens something had changed. All the anxiety he had felt for the past couple of days had inevitably lead to this moment.

How she had found out about his mother he did not know, nor did he know what to think about her belief that his father was innocent, but if the softening gaze of her almond-shaped eyes was anything to go by, she at least felt something for him, despite the fact that he knew, given his behaviour, he certainly did not deserve it.

They were so close now and he found himself feeling nervous like a green boy, acutely aware of the suppleness of Belle's arms, which he could feel just beneath the palms of his hands. As he looked down towards her lips, he began to wonder whether they had ever been this close before.

Not since the night they'd met. Glancing back towards Belle, his eyes drifted across her face. No, tonight she wore a very different expression. It was with painful realization that the Prince recognized that all his fears were true. She did feel that unimaginable thing that had been churning inside of himself for months and months. Perhaps she wasn't aware of what it even was, but the Prince knew that she would not turn away, not now.

"Don't you know?" he said, lowering his voice deeper so that only she could possibly hear.

Belle did not respond; she merely began to take deeper breaths as her irises became large, transfixed and unable to look away from him. He felt as if they were at the edge of a cliff and were about to trip and fall down together towards the earth.

Lifting his hand slowly, the Duke cupped the woman's face and as he did so, he felt Belle tense slightly before leaning against him, her cheek grazing his palm ever so lightly. The effect it had on him however was anything but insignificant.

She was so beautiful.

He wanted nothing more than to release her dark curls from the pins they were held by, but the Prince stopped himself from doing so, instead imagining his hands sinking into her dark tresses as he tilted her head upwards to expose her throat.

He had always known she was beautiful of course, from the moment he had first set eyes on her, but now, it was as if she were the most beautiful thing he would ever encounter in his whole life, more beautiful than any living thing or flower… Somehow, he knew, right now, in this moment, with that look of wonder and nervousness displayed on her face, that he would never again see anything as beautiful as she.

His hand stilled as he thought about the rose he had discarded the night of the ball. Why it had suddenly entered his mind, at such a miraculous time as this, he did not know but as he stared into Belle's eyes, he was reminded of the old beggar woman's words and then the words of the Marquis.

He blinked and felt a shift within himself. It was most peculiar.

This had been a wonderful dream, even if for only a moment. He would say what he truly felt about her as Plumette had instructed him to do and hope it would at least grant him some form of peace. The Prince also understood that by doing so, he would break this beautiful spell they were both under. Smiling sadly, he sighed as Belle leant forwards. He'd seduced her, he tried make himself think. Yes, he had seduced her, that was all….

He knew his truth, by expressing it through words, would wake her and force her to pull away.

"You must know Belle," he murmured, lifting her hair and speaking softly into her ear as his other hand grazed her throat, his fingers delicately touching the vulnerable part of her, "how long I've wanted to kiss those lips of yours... To hear you beg…. And down… past your throat…"

It had the desired effect. He'd become too accustomed to the practise, but the skill he had did not bring him any joy this time. Next to Belle, he felt indecent, cheap. Opening her eyes, Belle blinked in shock before taking a step back and pushing her hands against his chest.

He relented, offering no resistance and stepped back as well, smiling sadly towards Belle as she lifted a hand to her mouth, a mouth that moments ago he could have easily captured and devoured with his own.

"You should leave," he heard himself say, and the Prince was surprised by how unaffected he sounded. He was not cold however, which he silently thanked for. The Duke did not want Belle to misunderstand.

Unfortunately it seemed like he was going to have a hard time not making her so, as she was already looking at him in a dazed fashion, utterly confused by the whole situation. Without having to give reasons for it, the Prince could already feel the questions burning inside her brain.

She began to stammer incoherently so the Prince interrupted, raising a calm hand which gained him her attention.

"Don't," he said firmly but in a controlled manner. "I am glad you told me honestly how you felt about being here and the treatment you have received. It has given me a lot to think about. It's only that I don't want you to see me like this…. So, am I to understand Mrs Potts knows the truth?"

"Yes, sir," she replied and unlike the many times before she could not easily revert back into conversation, as if nothing had happened. "She knows everything."

He heard the blandness in her voice, utterly different from a few moments ago when he had felt her cool yet heated breaths around his neck.

"But please understand," she continued, realizing perhaps what they had actually been talking about before their conversation had been led astray. "Her silence was an order given by your father. Otherwise, I am sure she would have told you herself, a long time ago."

The Prince nodded and tried to hide the rage he could feel accumulating once more but felt himself failing. Their moment had passed and now all he felt was frustration; too many emotions were swirling about in his mind, and the last thing he wanted to do was make a mistake and upset Belle. Blinking, he realized that he had already referred to Mrs Potts' words as the truth, subconsciously he had already accepted it.

He would need time but he could already feel the shock setting in. He was upset at the heads of staff, but also towards himself for not surrendering to the truth which he secretly had feared for years and years.

It appeared in his mind, as bright as day, like it had been there all along.

He could still see her, her expression so serene, barely a sign really that she had injured herself. He got confused and thought she was sleeping at first but when he felt something warm behind her head and lifted his fingers, he had seen blood. That was when he starts to scream. That was what he remembered most of all. That and seeing his father towering over the two of them from the top of the stairs, looking towards them before turning to speak to a maid...

The Prince blinked and looked towards Belle, who was still staring at him but now a bit more subdued, concern ridden in her eyes.

His mother died by accident, not because of some dramatic reason. There was no one to blame and that was the hardest thing to accept. He couldn't as a child, the truth was too much to bare but he had to accept it now. He had to, so he could stop hurting people.

There was hurt in Belle's eyes too, which confused the Prince because surely after the way he had spoken and turned her away she would not bare to look at him. He furrowed his brow, staring silently as Belle moved slowly towards their dinner, now cool and forgotten.

"Regardless of the truth sir, I am very sorry about what happened to your mother," she said softly as she turned to look him. "As someone who never knew her own mother, I cannot begin to imagine the pain of losing such a person during childhood, having felt their love once and then having to lose it so soon."

The Prince was unable to look at her but once she was done he did turn to see her give him a small smile before turning away to depart the room.

"Thank you for the meal," she said, capturing his gaze one last time before opening the door quietly and disappearing through it, it's hinges giving a soft thud as it closed.

The Prince stared at the door for several seconds before he collapsed into his chair and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding on to.

Why was it every time they met it felt like a cataclysm, like a lightning bolt shooting a tree right down to its core?

Touching his forehead with his hand, he leaned his elbow against the table, utterly exhausted. He'd nearly lost himself, gods he'd nearly kissed her. But somehow, he knew if he'd kissed her he would have most likely claimed her right there and then, ravaging her in the middle of the damned dining table.

And their conversation, which held just as big an importance for him. He never thought it possible to feel so engaged, yet he never tired of her, in fact he felt eager to hear what she had to say, not caring even if she spoke ill of him because he knew it was always the truth.

He felt like falling down to her feet but also could not contain the urge to want to possess her. After having his fingertip lie so close to that rosebud like mouth, he knew he had smelt temptation and would never forget it.

Groaning as he put his face into his hands, the Prince shook his head. He had just made everything worse for himself.

The door opened at that moment and he heard a shuffle of movement. No doubt it was the maids and Lumiere, who had finally rushed in to ask what had happened. He'd realized halfway through their squabble, that with all their shouting and ruckus they were causing, Lumiere had most likely sent the servants away and left them in peace.

"Leave me in peace," he mumbled. "I do not wish to be disturbed."

"I, I am sorry sir, it's just that, your… your cloak."

The Prince snapped his head from the table to see Belle standing in front of him, a handful of non-descript rags held in her delicate little hands.

Staring wordlessly at them before looking up Belle, the Prince frowned as if she had just brought a possum into the room.

"Your.. your cloak," said she, her words feeble as she stared back, obviously afraid of whatever she saw in his eyes. "You gave it to me the other night and…"

He remembered then. He remembered standing by the tree. How the fabric had hung around her shoulders like Red Riding Hood when he'd given it to her.

The Prince felt something within himself give way, as if he were finally surrendering to something. His eyes darkened.

Cloaks could not protect you all the time, and certainly not from wolves.

Without a second thought he swiftly rose from his chair and staggered towards her, not saying a word as he took her face into his hands.

They had gone too far now. She knew, he could see it in her eyes. And even if nothing ever came of it, he couldn't stop from being honest with her. It was like a dam breaking, he had reached his limit and could not go on without going insane. This woman, this almost celestial-like being had caught him in a vice and if he did not do something now, he felt like he was going to explode.

Pulling her hair away from her face, he leaned down and captured her mouth without warning, giving her no time to think or react.

They fit so perfectly he could not help but let out a sigh. Her mouth was just as soft as he had imagined and as he lowered his hands down towards her neck, he felt her fingers grip hold of his shirt, her hands then splaying across his chest.

He had never felt anything so sensual before and it was as if everything suddenly became heightened, like they were somewhere else. She felt so much, he could feel it, but with inexperience she knew not what to do next and yet this only caused him to want more of her. Everything was real; the quiet moan he heard her give out was real, her hot breath against his was real, and he knew, when he felt the tip of her tongue touch his as he deepened their kiss and gently made her open her mouth, that he had never felt anything as intense as this and probably never would.

If he thought he'd known what true desire felt like before, he must have been dreaming.

He heard the cloak she held in her hand drop to the floor as she lifted her hands to his neck, this time taking hold of his hair, which sent shivers down his spine. Her movements were unpractised and raw, it was clear she was feeling by instinct but she was everything he thought she would be and more.

They hadn't had enough, the Prince could sense it as he broke their kiss, and as he looked down into Belle's eyes he saw a flame there that had never been present before, which only lured him into pressing his lips further against her cheek before moving down towards her neck just as her eyes fluttered to a close. They were both panting now and the heat from her skin was so overwhelming, he wanted nothing more than to be enveloped by it, to completely surrender to her. Her arms began to reach around his back and when he felt her press the entire length of her body towards his, he realised that if they did not stop this now, it would inevitably lead to something much more dangerous. Opening his eyes, the hazy thought entered his mind as he felt Belle's leg run unknowingly against his aroused flesh, which awakened something unknown within himself. Before he lost all his sanity, the Prince tore his lips from her delicate neck and held her at arm's length, forcing her to let go of him.

As they both stared at each other, their lips parted, only one thought ran through the man's mind.

For the first time in his life, he felt alive.

"You heavenly creature," he whispered incredulously, bringing her closer to him so she could hear. "What have you done me."

Her eyes widened, perhaps finally realizing internally what had just transpired, and the Prince, noting this, quickly let go of Belle and quit the room before she could utter a single word.

Note: Oh, I know, you're all probably wringing your hands in the air after all that, but it happened at the right time and in the right way for me. I hope that answers some questions. We are going to steer into more steamy territory but I hope you all know it's going to still be incredibly rocky! If the Prince has learnt anything over this story, his actions here prove it and I hope you all can appreciate that (at least until Belle comes back and then he just snaps lol). Much more drama is coming your way, and not to worry, plenty of Belle and Adam, much more than during the first half of this story :D Stay tuned!

P.S. If any of you are interested, I do a little song-writing and singing on the side from time to time. I have a soundcloud account under the name Sakura Wood as well as a YouTube channel under the same name. I have only just started but if you're interested please take a look! I have uploaded a few original songs on my sound account so have a listen if you like ;-) Also I am going on holiday so will not be able to update for a while. Please bear with me!


	27. Chapter 27

Hello guys! First of all, thank you for the support and as some of you have commented I thought I would address when I will be back. At the moment, I have real life priorities and I simply do not have the time to write. i hope you can all respect this. However, after January, I should have a lot more time on my hands and I will be able to come back and continue. Yes I know this is not ideal but please keep in mind that this is fanfiction, free, and more importantly, a hobby for me. There are no obligations here. However, I am sad to have left you all for a long time, but it really was unavoidable. The good news is I WILL be back, but till then I hope you can all sit tight. There are fantastic writers on this site and wonderful stories to discover, so I hope you will be able to enjoy other stories while I am away. Thank you for being so patient with me, and happy reading everyone!


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 27

Marie stared at Belle, looking absolutely mortified.

"Oh now, please do not look at me like that," said Belle as she placed a rather large and thick book in front Marie just as the clock by the mantelpiece struck twelve. She had spoken with Mrs Potts in advance to say they would be having a slightly longer lunch breaks from now on in order to fit in Marie's reading lessons.

"Mademoiselle, perhaps you misheard me before, but when I said I could not read, I really meant I could not read-"

"Marie, we must start somewhere," said Belle, hoping that she did not scare her friend away as she pulled her chair closer towards hers as they sat around a large round table at the end of the library by the fireplace.

"But of all the things to start with, must it really be-"

"So, you recognize this book?" said Belle, being deliberately blunt as she opened said book in front of Marie and started shuffling through the pages to find the passage she was looking for.

"Of course, I have heard of Greek mythology mademoiselle, even if I have never read any of it before!"

Belle smiled, happy to hear the indignation in Marie's voice.

"I am happy to hear that Marie," she said gently, finally arriving at the part she had been looking for. "It is good to know that you hold enthusiasm. Judging by the way Mrs Potts had hardly seemed surprised when I spoke with her earlier today, I had a sneaky suspicion you might have already had some knowledge about some works of literature. I asked whether you had, and she said you had been interested in this book and had many a time looked through the pages."

Marie, appearing to be thoroughly neurotic and reminding Belle strangely of Cogsworth, sighed as she shrugged her shoulders.

"I was dusting one of the drawing rooms one day with one of the other girls, and we came across an oil painting which I had long been interested in for quite some time. It displays a figure, an angel with a bow in his hand, hidden in darkness, raising his hands as if to shield himself from the light coming from a lamp held by a young woman. I asked my friend what it was called, I couldn't read the title you see, and she said it was called 'Cupid and Psyche'. She didn't know what it meant so I asked Mrs Potts about it, and she told me it was a Greek myth, a very old story, like a fairy-tale, and she showed me this book in the library. I did not tell her I could not read, but nevertheless I went back to the painting and stared at the title and then came back here and stared at the letters on the first few pages and managed to find the same words. So yes, I know the story is in this book, but it is way too advanced for me."

"I believe the best way to learn is by first finding something you have an interest in," replied Belle softly, turning back to the contents to find the said myth as Marie sat stiffly in her seat. "Luckily you have already found something."

As Marie turned to shake her head in embarrassment, Belle took hold of her left hand and addressed her once more.

"This is truly wonderful Marie!" she exclaimed as the maid looked up at Belle reluctantly. "The fact that you already have found a story you want to be able to read is great, and trust me, it will make things a lot easier for you. Reading may sound daunting, but mythology is a wonderful place to start. My father used to tell me the stories of Greek myths actually. They are essentially, as you correctly have said, fairy-tales."

"Do you truly believe I could read this?" said Marie, sounding disbelieving as she pointed at the page in front of her.

"Yes, I do," said Belle simply before reverting her eyes back towards the story of Cupid and Psyche. She had never noticed the oil painting Marie had referred to, but perhaps she would go take a look after their lesson. It was rather interesting that Marie's eyes had become fixated on it, but then again Belle liked to think it indicated that her friend had a good eye for art and also perhaps the more mysterious and nebulous parts of the human condition.

As they progressed through the story, both Belle and Marie began to lose track of time. The story was a lot longer than Belle had remembered it to be, but this was a reading lesson, their pace was naturally going to be quite slow. They reached the part where Psyche had become convinced by her sisters that her husband was a monster and needed to be vanquished.

"Psyche resisted these persuasions as well as she could," read Belle out loud, just as intrigued as Marie to see how the story was to progress. "But they did not fail to have their effect on her mind, and when her sisters were gone, their words and her own curiosity were too strong for her to resist."

Usually Belle would have stopped her and then gone back to the first sentence to help Marie put the letters together with the words she has just spoken, but something about this part of the story stuck with Belle, and so she carried on.

"So, she prepared her lamp and a sharp knife, and hid them out of sight of her husband. When he had fallen into his first sleep, she silently rose and, uncovering her lamp, beheld not a hideous monster, but the most beautiful and charming of the gods, with his golden ringlets wandering over his snowy neck and crimson cheek, with two dewy wings on his shoulders, whiter than snow, and with shining feathers like the tender blossoms of spring…."

Belle's voice faltered as she stared down at the words, and she was quite unaware that Marie was now staring at her, with a perplexed expression on her face.

"Belle, are you quite alright?"

Blinking, the young librarian looked away from the page, and away from the rather strange image that had appeared in her head.

"Yes," she stammered. "Quite well."

Marie nodded in response, but Belle could tell that she was unconvinced. After a while, the maid spoke, sounding rather hesitant.

"I hope I do not sound too intruding mademoiselle, but I have heard whisperings among some of the maids about-"

"Nothing happened," said Belle, looking up quickly, knowing that she must look quite desperate. "They haven't been saying anything inappropriate, have they?"

"No mademoiselle, at least, nothing of the likes which you seem to be referring to," responded Marie gently, looking, even so, a little shocked. "Mademoiselle, did something happen? The night you dined with the master?"

Belle opened her mouth and was about to reply, but looking at the concern displayed on Marie's face, realized that if her friend- for she was at this point Belle's friend- had opened up and confided in her as much as she had done, then it only served to say that Belle ought to return that trust also.

In truth, she had decided not to think about it; the past few days after that night, she had spent largely by keeping herself as busy as possible. She had not seen him since, and of that she was glad. Belle hardly knew what she would do if she ever bumped into him in the castle. Not now anyway.

"The truth is Marie," she began, sounding more vulnerable that she had ever done in her entire life, "something did happen that night. It wasn't supposed to happen. We had been arguing about the matter we spoke of before, about his mother and what your mother saw the day died. I could not keep it away from him, I felt he ought to know by now."

Marie sat silent, not giving anything away and instead of filling the silence with speech, she gave Belle ample time to collect herself. Somehow the maid knew the young lady needed the space to gather her thoughts.

"I didn't mention your mother," said Belle, hoping to reassure Marie. "Only that Mrs Potts knew the truth because somebody saw the Duchess fall. I don't quite remember what was said after that, but when I went back to the room to give him his cloak…."

Again, Belle found herself unable to speak and her breathing became laboured as she saw yet again what had been circling within her mind ever since it had first happened. She still felt his touch, his scent, the way he had looked at her afterwards, as if some small part of him still lingered within herself.

"He kissed you," said Marie gently, saving Belle from having to state the obvious.

Nodding her head, Belle looked down at her hands which were wound tightly across her skirt.

"I am sorry," said Marie, sounding very sad yet her voice was also clipped, as if she were trying to supress something. "If I had been there, I could have done something. Clearly it was a distressing experience for you."

Belle looked up, confused, to find Marie staring fiercely at her, with contempt in her eyes; contempt which Belle, for a moment, mistook to be directed towards her.

"Distressing?" repeated Belle faintly, as Marie's expression quickly changed. "Why would it be distressing?"

"Oh forgive me Belle, I assumed- I mean, you spoke as if you were frightened-"

Marie continued to speak awkwardly before Belle laid a warm hand on Marie's.

"It wasn't like that at all," said Belle, a small smile on her face. "But nevertheless, it has left me a little confused. It happened so quickly and it ended before I really understood what was happening."

"You…. Um, you liked it?"

Belle's smile broadened as she heard the slight lilt in Marie's voice. As embarrassing as it was to speak of it, Belle felt a little weight begin to be lifted off from her shoulders.

"Well, he was very gentle at first, but I found myself moving at my own accord. It was as if someone else was in control of me, like I was watching myself from above. It is strange to speak of it this way, but that was what it felt like."

Marie was nodding her head as she listened to Belle and soon she was smiling from cheek to cheek.

"Well, I am happy for you Belle," said Marie, and she really did genuinely sound like she was. "And I am sure the Prince is very happy also."

At this utterance, Belle looked sharply towards her friend and all trace of a smile disappeared.

"I'm not so sure," she whispered, causing Marie to look concerned once more.

"Whatever do you mean Belle?"

The young lady turned away before replying, staring into the fire as logs continued to burn in the fireplace.

"He left me standing there, as soon as he realized his mistake."

"Mistake?" repeated Marie, wishing Belle would turn to face her. "What made you think he thought it was a mistake?"

Belle took her time to reply, but it was the one thing which dampened her thoughts, even now, several days afterwards.

"He seemed shocked, horrified almost, like he was… frustrated."

"Forgive me Belle, but I cannot believe that the Prince felt frustrated with you, not after, well…."

Marie herself felt too embarrassed to continue, but she did not want to upset Belle. A thought materialised, quite unexpectedly however, into the young maid's head and, without giving much thought to the consequences, posed her question to the young librarian.

"Mademoiselle," said Marie slowly. She needed to get this right.

Sensing perhaps a slight change in the atmosphere, a forlorn Belle turned to face Marie, who was observing her through a narrow gaze.

"When you said he was frustrated and he left you there in the room, it might not have necessarily been because he was upset with you. I am sure he does not blame you for what happened, it is quite natural when two people feel a sense of connection for things to…"

Marie noticed that Belle was hanging on her every word, and it became clear to the maid in that moment that while the young lady might have gained a lot of knowledge from the books she read, there were some things about a gentlemen's disposition which she clearly had not yet managed to learn about.

"Well," continued Marie, clearing her throat awkwardly before continuing. "The point is mademoiselle, that he may have left the room because if he had stayed any longer, he might not have been able to restrain himself. It was not because he was displeased with you, if anything quite the opposite."

Belle's eyes widened as she listened to Marie, but by the end, her mood was set in a rather different place compared to before.

"Well, if that is the case, then, well, he is utterly-" stammered Belle as she stood up from her seat, frustrated herself by failing to find the proper descriptive word to describe how she felt about the Prince's abrupt behaviour.

"Barbaric?" suggested Marie helpfully.

"Beastly!" exclaimed Belle, slamming shut the copy of Greek Mythology still laid out of the round table.

"But surely you were aware of his feelings for you, and your feelings for him?"

"I thought we had come to understand each other, yes, of course, and there were moments when we actually could hold a conversation, but it was sudden and-"

"Out of nowhere," finished Marie quietly, causing Belle to come to the end of her heightened sense of anxiety. Her voice was like a pin bursting her bubble.

Sitting down slowly, Belle looked hesitantly towards Marie, who merely sat quite placidly, staring at her. She spoke, not long after Belle's eyes turned from something akin to panic towards something more closely resembling normality.

"Belle, was it really out of nowhere?" asked Marie, this time no longer trying to be careful with her words. "Are you sure that your connection with the Prince has not deepened and grown over the past couple months during this winter?"

Belle's almond eyes met Marie's and though she said nothing, it was more than enough for the maid to see that Belle was slowly chipping away her sense of denial.

"Are you sure there was nothing leading up to this moment? A look, a phrase exchanged, or even just the touch of a hand?"

Looking down, Belle touched the inner corner of her right palm and remembered the strange sensation she had felt when the Prince had taken hold of her hand while they were walking in the grounds. Pursing her lips, Belle looked sombrely towards Marie, who was smiling again in a most sympathetic fashion.

"My dear friend, these things are never simple," said Marie, taking hold of Belle's hand once more. "Often they are infuriatingly confusing and leave one wondering what it is all about. This much however, I do know. The Prince, I believe, does not merely lust for you. He cares deeply about you, but also about what you think- I suspect, more importantly, what you think about him. It is difficult to know what others think of you, but the one thing you can do is observe yourself and question your own feelings. So, Belle, what is it that you feel when you think of the Prince?"

Staring back at her friend, Belle was speechless but she knew her friend was right. She had to examine herself and find out what lay inside of herself. Only then could she start to make sense of what had occurred, and more importantly, how she was going to confront the Prince, which inevitably would have to do at some point. The Prince had asked her the same question the night of their dinner and Belle had avoided answering truthfully. At the time, she had thought she was speaking truthfully but upon reflection she saw she had been spending all her time observing the Prince's actions and not truly examining her actions towards him.

What Belle realized now, as she saw Marie awaiting her answer, was that what she could not express in words, the Prince, inadvertently perhaps, had managed to expose the moment he'd kissed her. That was what had terrified her.

For if she did admit what she had felt then, what was to follow?

As Marie blinked, confused clearly by Belle's behaviour, the young librarian suddenly wondered whether the reason the Prince had turned away was because he knew nothing could come of it.

"Marie-" started Belle but her words were cut short by the sound of the library doors being opened, a scurry of people entering, the first and foremost being the Prince, who was being shouted at by the Heads of Staff, including Mrs Potts, who was looked unnatural upset and angry as the Prince charged down towards Belle and Marie.

"Enough, Mrs Potts, I will deal with this myself!" he bellowed, finally looking forwards as he walked towards the two women, a shocked expression replacing whatever lay on his face before as his blue eyes came straight into contact with Belle, who was still sitting by Marie.

"Good morning, sir," said Belle softly, hardly able to form the words. She'd been hoping for a little more time than this.

"Um," stammered the Prince as the Heads of Staff finally caught up to him. "I didn't realize you er- that you would be here."

As far as situations go, thought Belle. This by far had to be the most awkward she had ever faced.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 28

He wasn't drunk. That much he was thankful for. Opening the curtains, just a fraction, the Prince peered outside as the sunlight hit his eyes, blinding him temporarily.

"Bloody sun," he muttered to himself angrily before shutting the drapes quickly and slumping back into his seat. It was cold in the West Wing but the Prince had never minded this. Despite nearly blinding himself, the young Duke had to admit the sunshine had felt warm against his pale skin.

He had not left the wing for several days. In many ways, the Prince felt like he had retreated back into himself, but unlike before, he knew things could not go on as they were. He had decisions to make and the image of Belle, her slight smile, the dark, brilliant look in her eyes, refused to leave him alone. This did not help matters.

As the Prince sat there in the darkness ruminating, the doors opened abruptly and before he had time to even turn his head, Mrs Potts entered, pushing a trolley on top of which there had been placed tea and what appeared to be breakfast of some sort.

"Why did you not knock?" grumbled the Prince as Mrs Potts approached his chambers, both concern and determination written across her face.

"It has been several days sir," she replied curtly as she stopped the trolley and moved to make some tea. "I came in to check that you were still alive."

The sarcasm in her voice was not lost on the Prince, but he refused to award her with any sort of response.

"Perhaps it is not my place to say," she started again, this time more gently as she began to pour some tea, "but I believe I might know what is troubling you sir."

"This does not surprise me in the slightest," replied the Prince flatly, finally dragging his eyes forward to look at Mrs Potts. As usual, she was neat as a pin. "You are all always eavesdropping, I know this."

To his surprise, the lady seemed genuinely embarrassed by this as she gingerly picked up the tea cup and placed it on the table top next to his dark green chair.

"I do not expect you to believe me," she said, moving away to stand by the window, hiding her face. "I suspect Belle told you what I divulged to her."

The Prince stared at the old lady as she continued to look away from him, and he knew immediately what she was feeling in that moment, what she had always felt perhaps, concerning him.

Shame. Not towards him, but towards herself.

The Prince narrowed his eyes, hardening his gaze.

There can be no shame, unless one has felt they have made a mistake.

But…

There is no shame if one does not also care.

The Prince looked down towards the cup of tea in front of him, the steam slowly rising, easier to see as the room was as cold as it was.

"It is too late, I know," she suddenly continued, her voice so thick, it did not fail to make the Prince feel tense, unable to figure out how he wanted to react to her sudden confession. Yes, he had stayed in this wing for the past days because he did not wish to see Belle, but it was also because he did not wish to speak to anyone in the castle. Especially not the woman standing in front of him right now.

"Madame, there is no need," he began to say stiffly but Mrs Potts came towards him anyway and kneeled down in front of him, suddenly grasping hold of his fingers, taking his hands into her own.

"I do not ask you to forgive me!" she protested, looking down towards the ground as the Prince looked at her with dismay. "We were only doing as your father instructed, but I see now it was wrong!"

"Mrs Potts-"

"It was wrong to deceive you, to make you think your father was the reason for your mother's death!"

"Mrs Potts-"

"Your father wanted you to be strong, so he pushed you away from those that cared for you. But he was wrong!"

"Mrs Potts!" exclaimed the Prince, taking hold of her shoulders to make her stop. Looking up in anguish, he saw tears running down her cheeks.

"I have already forgiven you."

The soft words surprised the young man. So much so, that he stopped speaking for a moment. He had said the words without giving so much as a second thought, but he realized then that they were true and genuine words.

"In fact," he said, continuing as he looked down towards Mrs Potts again, wishing to wipe the tears from her face but not being able to do so. "There is nothing to forgive. If anything, I must apologize to you. To all of you. For my behaviour, for how I have treated you all."

"Oh master," said Mrs Potts, sighing as she looked down towards their intertwined hands. "I have never doubted you, surely you must know that. I always knew you had much of your mother inside of you."

"I don't see how," replied the Prince, utterly flummoxed as he shook his head. "Nevertheless, I regret a lot of my actions towards you. I know I cannot take any of them back, but I am glad to know the truth now in any case."

Mrs Potts nodded her head perhaps a little too vigorously as she took in his words. It was obvious there was still much that was troubling her mind.

"I do still have some questions though," said the Prince gently, prompting her to look up at him. "Please, rise from the floor, I don't wish to see you there, it is dirty."

"Of course," replied Mrs Potts quickly, as if she could not quite believe what she was hearing, and, as the Prince gestured, she sat on the edge of his bed as his chair faced it and he took a sip from the tea she had poured. The warm liquid helped him feel at least a little more relaxed for the questions he was about to ask her. This was what had been troubling him most for the past couple of days.

"I will start with the obvious," he said as he placed the tea cup back onto the table. "Why did you all stay away from me after what had happened? Was that my father?"

Mrs Potts nodded her head and smiled sadly towards him.

"There's no need to explain why," muttered the Prince, raising his hand carefully. "I think I can guess why."

"You loved coming to the kitchens, loved to stay and play down by the servant's quarters, but your father always disapproved and he took the opportunity when your mother died to give reason for you to not come down anymore."

"He made me hate you all," whispered the Prince, some bitterness finally entering his voice.

"The late master loved you in his own way-"

"Mrs Potts, I may forgive you all now, but you cannot expect me to forgive him also!" snapped the Prince before leaning back into his seat. "I apologize for raising my voice, but that point only I'm afraid can never be remedied. Maybe he was not responsible for her death, but for my mother's misery, he had a big part to play. In fact, perhaps the only part to play."

Taking her time to respond, Mrs Potts folded her hands into her lap. The Prince could feel that she wished to speak more on the topic but he would not allow it and he hoped she understood.

"There is one thing I wish to clarify," he continued as he stared at Mrs Potts, who was beginning to look at him with a little uncertainty. The thought had been gnawing at his brain for days.

"Of course, sir."

"I wish to know who it was that saw my mother fall. Belle did not say who it was, but she said you knew. Who was it?"

The Prince waited with baited breath. While he tried to not feel any animosity towards this person, he could not help but feel a little anger beginning to seep within himself, reaching his throat.

"Unfortunately, the person of whom you speak is dead," replied Mrs Potts, and her response was a surprise for the Prince. Sitting back into his chair, the Prince could not help but recognize the coldness replacing the fire from moments before. Disappointment.

"It was Marie's late mother, who had already worked at the castle for a number of years before the incident. You might perhaps remember her because you sometimes saw Marie when she was young playing with Augustin Mansart."

A vague, fuzzy memory entered the young Duke's mind, one where he indeed saw Augustin speaking with a girl with hair the colour of golden hay, down by the servant's door. The Prince even remembered that he had often teased Augustin about it, but at the same time, he was happy Augustin was not bored while he had to wait for him to finish his studies.

"And the Duke told her not to ever mention to anyone that she had seen the Duchess fall?" said the Prince, incredulity entering the timbre of his voice. "Why would he do that?"

Mrs Potts' expression changed from nervousness to that of a more forlorn nature as she stood up from the foot of the king size bed.

"I said this to Belle as well, Your Highness, but unfortunately as far as your father's intentions are concerned, we do know really know anything. The Duke, as you very well know, was a secretive man, and never spoke about the Duchess after her death. I do not wish to hypothesize, but I can tell you that your mother did not die by your father's hand."

"Belle said the witness saw my mother fall, but do you know anything more specific?" said the Prince, his voice limp and expressionless.

Grasping hold of both her hands tightly, perhaps in search for some sort of security, Mrs Potts walked slowly towards the Prince, who shifted his line of vision, and began to stare down at the floor.

"Marie's mother was doing her usual rounds that morning," began Mrs Potts, her voice plain and clear, recognizing that what the Prince needed to hear now was clarity, something certain, not speculation. "She entered the master bedroom in the West Wing, and your parents were arguing. What they were discussing, she was not too sure about, but your name was mentioned, that much she managed to hear."

The Prince said nothing, so Mrs Potts continued. His face revealed nothing.

"The Duchess left the room and your father was visibly upset, so Marie's mother attempted to leave, but the Duke told her to stay and continue with her duties. He was pacing while she began sweeping the floor, they were there for maybe four or five minutes, when they heard someone yelling. Your father recognized it was your voice."

"I found her and I thought she was asleep," said the Prince, his voice distant as he reflected upon the memory. He almost felt like laughing oddly. Children had such strange ways of coming to conclusions. "I thought she had sat down and just fell asleep. It was only when I touched the back of her head and saw the blood that I began to scream."

"Yes," said Mrs Potts, who looked much more distraught than the Prince. "They heard you and that is why they came to the top of the staircase."

The Prince began to shake his head before looking up and letting out what sounded like a long-withheld breath. To Mrs Potts' befuddlement, he did not seem upset. He looked strangely calm.

"Marie's mother," he said quietly, looking towards the family portrait still hanging on the wall by the bed. "She told you what happened."

"Yes," admitted Mrs Potts, letting her shoulders sag, probably from exhaustion. "She said that having to withhold such a big piece of information had begun to feel unbearable for her. She trusted me to not tell a soul and therefore told me what had happened. I had had my suspicions myself, but when she told me the truth, I cannot deny I was not shocked."

"When did she tell you this?" asked the Prince, finally looking up towards Mrs Potts. His brow was creased.

"Strangely it was a few months before she died," said Mrs Potts, looking towards the forgotten tea cup sitting beside the Prince. "She must have known she was not going to get better, she was already poorly by that point. This was quite a few years after your mother's death. She was worried no one would ever know what had happened, she needed to tell someone. When she asked me to come and see her, Marie was with her and-"

"Marie knew?" interrupted the Prince, his eyes turning sharp so abruptly that Mrs Potts looked up with alarm. This, he had not expected. It was one thing for Mrs Potts to know, but if Marie had heard, then perhaps she had known the truth… Since she was a child… While he sat upstairs alone, crying his eyes out, quietly hating his father, she had sat in a dingy room in the servant's quarters below while the truth was being divulged.

"Sir, I do not think so, she was still a child-"

"But she was in the room when her mother spoke with you?" persisted the Prince, lifting himself up from his chair, this time looking down towards Mrs Potts, as opposed to the other way round.

"Yes," whispered Mrs Potts, her eyes widening as she came to understand what must have been churning within the Prince's mind. "But we spoke very quietly, and she was preoccupied. She was young, Your Highness, I am sure she had no idea what we were talking about-"

The Prince whipped past Mrs Potts and pulled his cloak from the hook by his bed and, unconcerned with his appearance, marched towards the double doors to leave the wing.

"Your Highness!" exclaimed Mrs Potts as she caught up with him, her erratic form just visible within the corner of the Prince's eye. "Please do not act irrationally!"

"Where is she?" he said sharply, turning to glare at the old lady. "Where is she, Mrs Potts?"

Mrs Potts pursed her lips as the Prince waited for her to respond. No doubt she was expecting the worst to come.

"Probably in the library sir," said Mrs Potts, her voice turning thin and without much substance. "I sent her there because Belle had left to tend to the grounds."

Without another word, the Prince turned away and walked straight out the doors with alarming speed.

"Will you dismiss her if it is true?"

The Prince heard Mrs Potts' voice echo through the gallery as he made his way down the corridor. He stopped and didn't turn around.

"If Marie has known the truth all this time, although I find it highly unlikely? Will you dismiss her for it?"

The Prince moved slowly, swivelling his head to look at Mrs Potts, who, for the first time, was observing him not with fear, but accusation. The fierce look in her eyes reminded him of someone, someone who often looked at him this way. Her influence was like the plague clearly, infecting nearly everyone.

He almost smiled.

Mrs Potts was waiting for him to answer. But he was tired, he was tired of how people saw him.

But he was starting to really not give a damn. The days when he would drink such worries away were over. They did not concern him anymore.

So, he said nothing and turned away silently, walking straight down the gallery to the grand staircase, passing it as he made his way towards the East Wing and the library on the opposite side of the castle.

By the time he reached his intended destination, the other members of Staff had begun to trail behind him, no doubt because Mrs Potts was causing such a racket, running behind him and calling out his name.

Opening the double doors, the Prince ignored the voices of likes of Plumette and Lumiere, who were exclaiming and asking what was going on. Instead, he strove forwards, marching straight down the library towards Marie and Belle. He remembered saying something vaguely to Mrs Potts, losing his patience with her and her neurotic antics. As he turned back, he had envisioned seeing Marie quietly working away. He had been hoping to have a simple, quiet word with her.

Oh, how wrong he had anticipated the situation to be.

He came to stand still and, against his better judgement, found himself gaping at Marie. Or rather, the person sitting next to Marie, a pile of books surrounding them both. Clearly the young maid was not working, but rather studying.

In his library.

Not that this concerned him in the least at that precise moment. What concerned him was the fact that a certain young lady, whom Mrs Potts had specifically told him would not be here, was here, clear as day and was wearing a, rather appropriate, alarmed expression on her face as she stared at him, just as he was staring at her.

Damn.

She opened her mouth and muffled something. He muffled something back as he heard the footsteps of his servants approaching him from behind.

Damn.

The Prince simply had no words left to say as he shifted his gaze towards Marie, who was looking at him with a puzzled expression on her face.

What the bloody hell was he supposed to do now.

"Belle!" exclaimed Mrs Potts as she came to stand next to the Prince, and for once, he was actually happy to hear that she was thinking the exact same thing as him, but had the liberty of expressing the said emotion, unlike his miserable self. God knows what Belle was thinking right now.

"I must apologize, Your Highness," said Mrs Potts promptly, turning towards him and bowing her head. "I have fed you misinformation. I have wrongly assumed Marie would be here alone."

He let out a quiet sigh as he felt himself grimace. There was nothing for it. He would simply have to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

"Um," he spluttered out before clearing his throat and starting again. As if that wasn't enough, the Prince found himself standing up a little straighter.

"Marie, I am terribly sorry to interrupt whatever it is, er, that is going on here, but could I please have a quiet word?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the Prince realized his mistake. He felt the eyes of his entire staff on him as he flew past the word 'please' as he spoke. He _never_ said please, least of all to a member of staff. Let alone a scullery maid.

"Of course, Your Highness!" said Marie hastily, her voice rising at least an octave as she stood up abruptly, her eyes round like the saucepans she no doubt had to clean each and every morning down in the cold kitchens. The Prince was acutely aware that Belle was not saying a word. He did not even know how she was reacting to everything that was happening. Unlike the rest, she did not seem to be revealing anything. Not that he knew for sure of course; he was staring at the ground.

"If you could please join me over there, it will only take a minute."

The Prince gestured towards the upper balcony, where they could be secluded. He could have sent everyone away, but since this did concern Belle to a small capacity, there was no real reason to send her away. Besides, he did not want her thinking Marie was in trouble in any sort of way.

Turning away from his staff, he saw Mrs Potts looked at him with concern while the others looked curious, aside from Cogsworth who looked simply terrified. Oddly, or rather perhaps not so oddly, his expression was, to the Prince, the least alarming of them all.

Marie followed him as he had instructed, which he was grateful for, even if he felt a little awkward in having to separate her from the party. He could feel the fear coming off of her as he climbed the spiral staircase. The late morning sunlight was streaming through the upper bay windows, casting shadows on the steps as they climbed to the second floor.

Once they reached the landing, the Prince walked towards the closest chair and sat down, not before gesturing for Marie to sit opposite him, which she did, but only after a moment's hesitation. He understood that from her perspective, his behaviour must have seemed incredibly strange.

"I am sorry to confront you like this mademoiselle, but it cannot be avoided," began the Prince, wanting to get straight to the point. He tried to ignore the fact that everyone downstairs was looking up at them in silence as if they were audience members watching a pantomime.

"Of course, whatever it is, I hope I can be of service to you," replied Marie, to which the Prince nodded his head hastily before continuing.

"Despite what my staff think, I hope you will not be alarmed by what I must ask you," said the Prince. "I wish you no ill, I only desire the truth, that is all."

"What truth?" whispered Marie, sitting forward and furrowing her eyebrows as curiosity overtook fear.

"I want to know if you knew the truth about the Duch- about my mother," said the Prince, as he observed Marie carefully, wishing to gauge her reaction as accurately as possible. "Did your mother, who I know knew the truth, tell you what happened? That she was the only witness to what was, as I have recently learnt, in fact a mere accident?"

Marie's expression turned from alarm to resignation, or so the Prince thought. To his surprise, it changed further, and when she looked up at him, he saw true sadness reflected in her eyes.

"Your Highness, I have to regretfully tell you that I only just learnt the truth myself, from a trusted friend."

The Prince looked up sharply towards Marie, who wore a melancholy smile on her face. It was clear from the way she was looking at him, that Belle had told her what had happened the week before. No doubt they were close.

The Prince blinked as he turned away, subtly, or so he hoped, to peer down and see Belle, who had risen from her seat, and was currently looking up at him before turning to whisper to the staff. The young Duke felt his face begin to heat up as he shifted his gaze away. Of course, he couldn't have expected Belle to keep everything to herself, he knew she had friends here. Still, it was embarrassing to know that the young maid in front of him probably knew more now about how Belle had felt that night when they….

Well, anyway, she knew more than he did.

Perhaps she had sensed his embarrassment. In any case, Marie continued, much to the Prince's relief.

"As you very well know Your Highness," she spoke, her voice a little shaky, no doubt because she had never expected him, the Prince, to ever address her, let alone actually have a conversation with her, "Belle was informed by Mrs Potts about your mother and she decided to tell me the truth but a few days ago. Before that, I had no knowledge of it, and my mother had always kept it from me, although I always felt she was keeping something from me. I remember Mrs Potts speaking with her, only a few months before she died. But I never heard what was spoken, although I speculated and it never left my mind. Belle told me the truth because I had spoken about my mother's odd behaviour towards your late father, always defending him when others weren't. My mother died when I was still quite young, and Mrs Potts never told me what happened."

The Prince frowned as he took in Marie's words. Something concerned him.

Marie, misinterpreting his expression, exclaimed that Belle had told her in the strictest confidence because she felt it was wrong for her not to know.

"Please do not blame Belle sir! She told me because she felt it important that I know the truth. I implore you to-"

"When did your mother die again?"

Marie stopped as the Prince interrupted her, and she must have seen that he was much more collected than she had anticipated him to be.

"She was about forty, sir," replied Marie, no doubt finding the Prince's question to be a bit of a strange query.

"I see," responded the Prince, folding his hands together as he stood up and went to lean against the banister. "I only ask because…"

His voice faded as he turned to look towards Marie, who still sat on her chair, scrunched up like one would imagine a wood mouse to be during the dead of winter in a barn house.

"I must apologize to you Marie," said the Prince, standing straight as he looked down at the maid gravely. "To your mother also, although she is not here any longer. I wanted to know if she had known because if she did, if she had been holding on to such a secret for so long…"

He stopped again as he saw Marie begin to clench her mouth and grip hold of her skirt tightly in one hand.

"If she had been," he continued, his voice becoming hoarse, "that would have caused her to feel a lot stress, a lot of stress to be working under my father, unable to speak the truth. I have no doubt she probably felt a lot of guilt by the fact that she was being forced to lie. Given my own behaviour, my father's behaviour, I am sure it caused her to feel more than simple distress. I am concerned that all this contributed to your mother becoming unwell, leading to her death."

Marie gasped at this point as tears were beginning to flood her eyes, and the Prince returned to his seat, taking out a handkerchief and passing it to Marie gingerly. He was grateful she took it, hiding her face from him as he continued.

"I know you did not tell anyone, I have not come to reprimand you in any way, even if your mother had told you," continued the Prince. "The bitterness I feel towards my father is a personal matter, and goes beyond what happened to my mother. Besides, everyone still believes my father was guilty, which is proof enough that Mrs Potts kept it to herself for the most part, aside from telling Belle... Nevertheless, I apologize, on behalf of my family, for the strain my family put your mother under. It is inexcusable."

Marie lifted her face from behind the cream-white fabric after a moment and stared at the Prince a good long while, not saying a word. It was hard to tell what she thought; her eyes were red and still watery. It started to become a little disconcerting as the Prince shifted in his seat. Anxiety began to spread within himself; perhaps Marie could not forgive his family after all?

"Sir, are you not curious to know why Mrs Potts told Belle in the first place about your mother?"

The question was perhaps a little untoward, but after what they had spoken about, perhaps not so unsettling. At least, it shouldn't have been, but the Prince found himself looking quite agitated as he stared at Marie. She was visibly still recovering from what had been said before, but her facial expression was now mixed with something else. Something that had to do with him.

"Mrs Potts I'm sure told Belle because she knew she would be discreet and not tell anyone about it," murmured the Prince, hearing the defensiveness in his voice, betraying his inner conflict.

"Do you really believe that was all?"

The Prince blinked as Marie continued to stare at him with an odd sort of clarity in her eyes and he would have questioned her further if not for the fact that at that precise moment, a large clap of noise burst throughout the library. Everyone swerved to see the double doors being flung open, Augustin marching down towards them as if there was no tomorrow.

"ADAM!" he bellowed as he made his way towards the staff and Belle, who immediately looked up towards the balcony where the Prince and Marie stood, still facing each other.

"Is, is that Monsieur Augustin?" exclaimed Marie as the Prince's most trusted friend made his way towards them, walking straight pass the staff without uttering a single word, an action not unusual for most of the Duke's acquaintances to perform, but coming from Augustin Mansart this was highly unusual. In fact, to be most precise, unheard of.

Mrs Potts could not help but let out a tiny gasp as the young man swept by her and the man whom Augustin had yelled at, was currently deciding on how to deal with the apparent situation which appeared to be within range of combustion without making a fool of himself in front of the staff. Or rather, in front of Belle.

For god's sake, she wasn't even supposed to be here in the first place.

"Adam, I want to have a word right now!" continued Augustin, his voice raised, but clearly he had not pushed it to his fullest potential.

"What is happening?" said Cogsworth hoarsely as Lumiere raised his eyebrows, just as nonplussed as his counterpart it seemed. For Plumette's part, she had her arms folded and was switching her narrowed gaze periodically between Belle and Marie, trying to gauge both women's reactions.

Belle kept to herself it seemed, mostly covered in shadow, avoiding the lively sunlight streaming through the east windows. Marie stood behind the Prince. They had not moved from their position from the balcony. If Augustin was to cause a scene, the Duke thought, better it be up there where at least the staff could not hear most of it.

Not if Augustin kept shouting that is. Which seemed, at this point, pretty unlikely.

"I don't understand," whispered Marie, her voice travelling far enough to reach the Prince's ears, as he stood looking over the balcony, towards Augustin who was now marching towards the spiral staircase at rapid speed.

"Whatever it is, I can assure you mademoiselle that it will have to do with me, not you," muttered Adam as he turned, taking a couple steps away from Marie. He didn't know why he did so, he just thought it a good idea.

Marie however, did not seem to take the hint, for she stepped forward too, to stand next him.

"Adam, what on earth do you think you doing?" snapped Augustin as he came up to the landing. He was wearing his usual, green, but his face, so unlike his usual carefree self. It was clear to Adam that his friend was very, very mad at him.

But for what he had absolutely no idea.

Well, almost.

"What is it Augustin?"

Adam tried to keep his own composure, but unlike his friend, he was not good had hiding his emotions. He heard the annoyance seep in.

"Don't pull up a façade Adam," replied Augustin, his voice dangerously low and rough. His dark, piercing gaze moved momentarily towards Marie, where Adam could swear he saw a moment of respite, the soft nature of his friend showing, if just for a moment, before the hardened gaze returned and turned towards him once more.

"I have heard you have been bellowing about the castle, talking of wanting to punish Marie for doing something which I am sure she is innocent of! Do you not have any sense of composure? Have these past months taught you nothing at all?! Must you always fly into a rage every single time someone does something even slightly wrong in your eyes?!"

The Prince did not shift his gaze away from Augustin, even as he saw Marie step forward to intervene, he raised his hand to stop her. This was more than just about this moment, today. It was so much more than that.

The architect, for his part, looked towards Marie in a confused fashion before switching his gaze between them, clearly confused by their conduct.

"I don't understand," he began to mutter, as he started to properly look at the two of them, finally coming to see that Marie was very much composed and she did not look as if she had just experienced anything which would cause her any sort of distress.

"What is going on here?"

The Duke's moved his blue eyes away from Augustin for a moment to look down towards the staff. All of them were stood up, looking towards them with concern ridden in their eyes. Only Belle sat silent, still sitting by her desk, hidden in the dark slightly. This did not trouble him immensely; it did not stop him from turning away to look at Augustin again afterwards, but in that moment, he felt something, a moment's hesitation, as if he sensed something which the others hadn't.

Perhaps it was the fact that she seemed so quiet. It was not a word he would really associate with her normally. With her arms folded, and head only tilted slightly towards his direction however, it seemed like the only word he could really use to describe her in that moment.

Nevertheless, the Prince still turned away and looked up towards Augustin, whose anger was now slowly shifting towards that of annoyance. Perhaps even frustration.

"I'm sorry to worry you Augustin," started Adam, unsure what was really the right thing to say. "The truth is I was causing a lot of commotion as I came here, but you must believe me when I say the last person this anger was directed towards was Marie."

Augustin narrowed his eyes as his face turned grim. He looked uncomfortable as he shifted his gaze towards Marie, who was looking towards him but with hesitation in her blue eyes, as if she was seeing someone else for the first time, not him.

"This does not excuse my own behaviour of course," continued Adam, not wishing for his friend to feel embarrassed as he stood there, trying not to look too much at Marie. Heck, the Prince felt embarrassed for the way he had reacted as he had come here. He was too used to having his way, too used to walking around with no filter. Now, however, he found himself wanting to do the exact opposite. He didn't want any of his staff to see what was going on up here. It was yet another example of how his own actions had unknown consequences, beyond his own imagination.

He regretted it bitterly now, even if his intentions had been to resolve the dirt and grime his father had left behind. A man who also had little imagination or regard for consequences it seemed. More, perhaps, than even Adam himself had thought possible.

"I believe you," said Augustin finally, letting out a deep sigh which Adam now saw he must have been holding since he had started talking. "Marie, are you okay?"

"Yes, sir, I am fine," said Marie, surprised it seemed that Augustin had directed a question towards her.

Augustin nodded stiffly between lifting his face once more in Adam's direction.

"So, where was the anger directed towards?" he asked, his usual smooth-talking manner returning slightly, even if it was still tinged with distrust and a dark sort of temper, different to Adam's.

The Prince knew his friend well; he forged a surprised look on his face, even as he had anticipated the question. Augustin liked to dig and joke, but when he was angry, he used it also to push Adam in areas where most could not even hope to reach. Aside from one exception of course. It need not have to be spelled out at this point.

"Towards myself," said Adam after a moment. "That and also my family. The matter concerns Marie's mother. I was apologizing for some wrongs that were done towards her family."

"I see," replied Augustin swiftly, his voice curt. He obviously knew he could not pry any further. "Still, I advise you Adam to take better care in the future; you must learn to control your emotions better, regardless of their origin."

Adam nodded, and he felt Marie began to relax beside him. Augustin did not yet know the whole story, and while the Prince knew he could have explained everything right there and then, he saw it was not the time. Augustin had come for Marie and she, in turn, deserved to understand why Augustin had reacted the way he had. Perhaps it was better than he heard the story from her and not him.

There was deep-seated anger and frustration within Augustin which had been brought out by this particular situation, but Adam, for the first time, felt he had glimpsed at what his friend truly felt towards him. Augustin was a far better man than him and Adam saw that the frustration his friend felt towards him was far greater than he had initially anticipated.

The Prince could not initially think of an appropriate response to what Augustin had said but eventually he reached the banisters and looked down towards the staff warily. At least they seemed less worried than a few moments before.

"I'm sorry Augustin," he said again as he looked towards the ground and held on to the gold bannister. It was a cowardly thing to do, the Prince knew this, but still, he couldn't quit face up to look at his friend. Perhaps this was the end for them.

"I didn't realize how much pain and suffering I had been causing you over the years. I know sorry is not enough. I will find a way to apologize properly and repay you somehow. I do not deserve you as a friend. I am grateful that you came back to see me, even after everything that happened. I do not deserve it. I promise I will try to do better in the future and be a better Duke at least than my father. But I will be alright now, there is no need to feel any burden any longer. I only wish I had realized all this sooner."

"You already are, sir."

The Prince blinked, surprised to hear Marie's voice and he turned to see her smiling towards him, a brightness in her eyes. He was bad at taking compliments, so he could do nothing but smile.

His focus on her was interrupted however by Augustin, who had suddenly started to walk towards him, his expression still sombre, a stark contrast to Marie's.

He came to stop right in front of Adam and said nothing for a moment, only looking into his friend's eyes as if trying to search for something.

"I'm your friend Adam," he said after a moment, his voice quiet. "That's what friends do. They come back."

The Prince narrowed his eyes for a moment before turning away and blinking, lifting his chin up as if he was fixated with the stain-glass ceiling above. He could not fool Augustin however.

"But you're right," said Augustin, his voice grainy once again, "you do owe me now, even if you do own a Dukedom!"

He ended his exclamation by giving the Prince a rough slap on the back, surprising him in a rare moment of emotional release.

Adam's expression soon soured however as he turned to peer at his friend, who now wore a gigantic grin on his face. His eyes however, remained thoughtful.

"I am sorry, mademoiselle, for all of this," said Adam, his eyes not moving off Augustin, whose annoying grin he saw swiftly melt away to be replaced with something akin to the horror of embarrassment. Adam smiled with satisfaction. His friend had forgotten about the rather smart girl standing behind him.

"I must apologize also!" stammered Augustin as he turned around and made a very stoop bow, too stoop really, but Adam could not blame him. "I am sorry for my outburst earlier."

"Please, you do not have to do that," said Marie as she started to frantically wave her hands at the pair of them. "Clearly, this was much bigger issue than it first appeared to be. I am only sorry I witnessed what I am sure you both would have wanted to be a private moment."

"Not at all!" they both exclaimed at the same time, to which they both responded by turning to one another. Marie could not help but lift a hand to hide her smile.

"There are a few matters however, which I believe you should know of Augustin," continued Adam as he stared at his friend wearily. "But now is not the time for them. I am sure you would like to spend some time with Marie. I will leave you two in peace."

The Prince gave an elegant bow towards his friend, who said nothing but gaped at Adam in surprise, before looking towards Marie and giving her a warm smile.

"You may discuss everything which has been spoken about today with him. He is my trusted friend. Thank you, Marie, for having the patience to talk to me today."

With that, the Prince left his two counterparts and made his way down the spiral staircase. The subtle smile he wore on his face slowly ebbed away however as he reached the final step. The staff were all still standing there, and Belle was there also, still in her sitting pose. Her silent air of elegance made him feel embarrassed, although he could not quite make out why.

Letting out a haggard sigh, his balled his hands into fists as he strode towards Mrs Potts and the rest of the senior staff. There was an air of anticipation about them, as well as the usual awkwardness.

"I must apologize to you all also," stated the Prince, wasting no time as he ignored the stunned glances exchanged between them. "My behaviour just was uncalled for. I will try to better from now on. In any case, the matter is resolved and as you can see, I have no quarrel with Marie."

Mrs Potts let out a muted sigh as her gaze connected with the Prince's. As the staff said nothing more, the Prince turned hesitantly towards Belle, who still had her head cast down, as if she did not count herself as part of the party.

"I must apologize especially to you, Belle," he started and was surprised to see her flinch in response, looking up sharply as if she were as surprised as he was to see him addressing her. It must have been surprising, thought the Prince in retrospect, because he had not said a word to her since those first bumbling words when he had come charging in earlier.

"I am terribly sorry for disrupting your time with Marie," he continued, as Belle said nothing. "It was incredibly rude. I promise it will not happen again."

He saw her eyes flutter in the shadows as she shook her head.

"Not at all, Your Highness, you are free to speak to whomever you wish, whenever you wish to."

The Prince found himself frowning as he took in her muted words, and he would have questioned it, only that there was a whole herd of people standing behind him, making it a little difficult to do so.

He also did not want the staff talking, so instead of provoking her, he simply smiled gently and said a quiet response.

"Still, things should always be done with a measure of kindness. Even if I am a Duke, I do not ever wish to abuse my position. I will endeavour to do better than those who have proceeded me."

He had been trying to get Belle to look at him, and at last he succeeded, as she lifted her eyes, subdued in the darkness, he found himself transfixed, unable to make out her expression.

The Prince would have been happy to stand there all day, but the images of what had happened the last time they had spoken now run through his mind at rapid speed, and if he indulged in this temptation any longer, he knew it would not lead to any good.

Merely giving her a hesitant smile before turning to face his staff, the Prince walked swiftly past them all as he raced to the double doors, storming through them, much in the same manner as he had first entered.

The young Duke had been longing to be left alone at this juncture, however his wish was not to be granted, for as he turned the corner and left the library, he heard the scuttling and shuffling of feet, along with the distinct smell of flowery vapours, a scent only belonging to a certain someone.

"You forgot to say adieux, sir," came her earthy voice, and the Prince grunted in response, not wishing to really acknowledge her presence. "You left rather abruptly, leaving us all rather perplexed. Were your dealings with the little thing dealt with, as you so stoically pronounced in there?"

"What?" he spluttered, finally turned to look at Plumette, who was strolling along beside him, despite the fact that he had been trying his damndest to stay ahead of her.

"Marie, sir, I am referring to Marie," replied the dark-haired lady, rather slyly he thought. "I would never dream of calling Belle something as belittling as that, even taking into account her height."

"What's wrong with her height?" snapped the Prince, finally losing his patience as he abruptly turned around and shot staggers he hoped to be intimidating in nature towards his staff. He got a bad feeling however that he was merely coming across as a lunatic.

Noting Mrs Potts' pitiful smile and avoiding Lumiere's rather lingering stare amid the silence, Adam turned away, immediately regretting his outburst just as Plumette uttered the following words.

"Monsieur," she murmured, her voice subdued, as if they were having a private conversation, instead of currently being followed by an entire entourage, "I would like to help you if I can. I saw the unsaid words between you. It is clear to me that you want to speak to Belle again. Should I say a few words to her?"

"In the past, I would have been happy with such actions," replied the Prince rather quickly as they finally approached the other side, now entering into the West Wing. "However…. I must learn to confront these things on my own."

"There is no shame in wanting help or assistance sir," replied Plumette, her wry smile not sarcastic or pitying but rather encouraging and empathetic. "I would be glad to be of service to you."

The Prince hesitated. He had been about to turn her away, but as he looked behind his shoulder towards his staff, he realized that they had followed him because they had wanted to assist him. They had felt something unresolved in the library, and it had nothing to do with Marie.

"Very well," said the Prince reluctantly as he opened the heavy doors that led further into the dark 'cave', as Plumette had called it. "But not a word of what I say to any of you beyond this point must escape through these doors."


	30. Chapter 30

Author's note: First of all, thank you so much for the kind messages! It has been wonderful to hear from both old and new readers I just wanted to add that as a guest, I cannot reply to what you have written even if I wish to, but if you do have an account and log in, I will be able to answer any questions you may have. Thank you for being so patient! Oh, and try not to despair, no matter what you read next… Happy Reading everyone!

Chapter 29

He was starting to regret this.

The Prince had waited for his members of staff to sit by the mantelpiece, his hands folded together as he sat, safely at a distance from them, behind his desk. The fire was crackling away, but he was painfully aware of the silence between them, their silhouettes casting ghastly shadows on the stone floor. They were waiting from him to speak.

"I have come to a conclusion these past few days," he began, keeping his tone fairly neutral. "There has been a central conundrum that has been toying away within my brain for quite some time now. It must be resolved and the sooner the better."

The staff said nothing, which the Prince found more than a little disconcerting but nevertheless he continued.

"I have decided it best for her to return to her village."

What proceeded to happen then, he could not have possibly foreseen. The room literally erupted as the staff started to exclaim all at once in protest; Lumiere was suddenly up on his feet as Cogsworth began to counter-act him, seemingly trying to get him to shut up, while Plumette had started talking right at him but came across as entirely incoherent due to all of the noise that was going on, partly due to Mrs Potts, who had started this entire debacle in the first place by raising her voice with a 'well I say'. She was trying her best to communicate with him above the noise but to no avail.

"Silence!" bellowed the Prince as he slammed his hand onto the writing desk, rattling it as a result. "What has gotten into you all? You're behaving like a pack of animals!"

They must have begun to feel something resembling remorse or a sense of embarrassment, for they quietened down pretty quickly.

"Now, as I was saying before you all went off like a pack of hyenas," he continued darkly but with an incredulous look at his face, "I have decided it is best that she leave."

"But Sir!" interjected Mrs Potts, unwisely, the Prince thought, "is she not better off here in the castle? I know of Villeneuve, and it is full of the most narrow-minded people imaginable! She will have no prospects there and her potential will be squandered!"

"There will be squandered also if she remains here," replied the Prince softly but giving the old lady a steely glance. "Things have changed, I have changed."

Looking about the room, he sensed the confusion coming off his staff as they looked at him quizzically. It was no use. Plumette had said she would help, and the Prince knew he would have to be open with them, in order for them to understand the decisions he had made or were thinking of making.

"The truth is," he muttered after taking a deep breath and letting it out roughly, "I do not know what to do with her. The night of our dinner resulted in…. in an incident, which explains her muted behaviour just now. I cannot keep her, she is a member of staff-"

"But I thought the reason for my and Lumiere's efforts was to help you win her intentions!" interrupted Plumette as she stood up once more. "You wanted her to know of her affections and to win hers in return, surely that was the reason for the dinner in the first place!"

"It wasn't about winning her Plumette," replied the Prince, but he felt his resolve disappearing. "She is not a prize horse to be bought. I wanted to know how she felt!"

"And how does she feel about you!" said Lumiere, striking a point which the young Duke had not wished anyone to bring up. This had been one big colossal mistake.

He stared at his counterpart with the same measure of desperation he saw reflected in his eyes and could not form a proper answer. He could only state facts. Once before, he thought he understood Belle, understood what she thought of him, but now…

"I kissed her," he said quietly, finally piercing the silence, and he knew they were all looking at him aghast. "I kissed her, I didn't mean to, it just… happened."

"Did she like it?" came the soft, sly voice of Plumette, warmer than before with no hard edges to it. It was cautious however, which he immediately recognized. He knew what they were all thinking.

"I don't know," he muttered, but he immediately felt the sudden rise of heat around his neck and felt the constraint of his cravat as he thought of Belle's lips pushing against his, her fingers clawing at his shirt as they pressed into his chest, reaching out for something indescribable.

"I mean," stuttered the Prince as he turned away from them, wishing to rid himself of the image, "I don't- it's none of your business anyway!"

Ending his sentence by raising his voice at the very people he was seeking counsel from was perhaps not the wisest of choices, but he felt as if he was being pushed into a corner. He was trying to make things better, but he seemed to be going nowhere.

"Oh, so she did like it!" exclaimed Plumette, her voice breathy as she smiled at the Prince, much to his alarm.

"What?" he replied in puzzlement as he swerved his head around to look at her.

"Sir," added Lumiere, finally finding his voice somehow as he stood up, his shimmering coat dancing with light almost wickedly against the flames of the fireplace, "you do realize if you want us to help you, you must indulge us at least a little. Without details, we cannot be of much use."

"What are you all talking about?" spluttered Cogsworth, still sitting in his chair. "What on earth is going on, and why are we talking of the Duke's private matters? Surely it matters not which debutante he has kissed in the past few days!"

The remainder of the staff all turned to look down at Head of the Household with equal expressions of astonishment and sarcasm. Cogsworth, realizing his mistake, proceeded to look at down at the carpet, looking as if he wished to disappear from the room all together. The Prince could share his sentiment, on this very rare occasion.

"Seriously, Cogsworth," muttered Lumiere in a low voice. "You ask this now?"

"Monsieur, please allow me to steer the conversation back to its original course," said Plumette in a commanding voice as she stepped in front of Cogsworth and Lumiere. "I gather the mademoiselle reciprocates your feelings. This is wonderful news. I do not understand what the problem. Unless your hunger has waned after having one taste, which would not at all be surprising, coming from-"

"Ahem!" coughed Mrs Potts rather loudly, before shooting a maddening glare towards Plumette. "Your Highness, please forgive us. It is only that we care for the girl just as much as I am sure you do. But something troubling you, and Lumiere is correct, you must be honest with us, if you seek our guidance."

"Right, of course," said the Prince with a frown on his face. He was beginning to question his choice in advisors. "I must admit- and this must not leave this room- that she enjoyed it, in the moment I mean- I mean we were- we weren't thinking I think, so things sort of escalated, I didn't- I mean I knew it was a possible outcome but we had been arguing, I'd shouted her!"

The staff gasped, almost in unison. The fire continued to crackle behind them.

"Yes, I know, it's despicable," muttered the young Duke, begrudgingly carrying on. "I don't need you to tell me that, but it was concerning- well, what she knew about, only because of you I might add!"

He pointed to Mrs Potts, much to his dismay, and though he spoke the truth, he took no pleasure in putting someone else on the spot. He had to, however, because he felt like he was dying from the amount of attention that had so far been directed solely towards him.

"Not that blame of you, of course," the Prince added hastily, as he begun to see Mrs Potts blush. They others did not know of course, but he would remedy that soon enough.

"But anyway," he continued, his voice turning rough as he felt his thoughts start to swirl faster and faster in his mind. "Afterwards, I left, I just left her standing there, like an idiot."

"What?!"

This time he heard the same words coming from everyone, which was alarming, more than anything.

"Yes, I know," said the worn-out Prince, aware that he was now repeating himself but he could not help it. "Despicable. Oh gods, what the hell was I thinking?!"

He finally lost his composure and landed back down into his chair, nearly breaking it as he put his head in his hands. He no longer cared about how his staff saw him. This was the best visual representation he could give them of how he really felt.

"You did what?" exclaimed Lumiere, moving forward to stand next to Plumette, who for once was speechless. "We told you to confess your feelings, not to ravish her like a wolf! No wonder she could hardly speak to you today! She must be embarrassed and as a sheltered village girl, I am sure she's hardly had any experience on that front!"

"Of all the ways, I could have expressed my feelings, believe me, that was not the way I wished to do it," said the Prince plainly, not lifting his head. "I am sure she is now horrified and feels just as damaged as a crushed petal."

The Prince had been expecting a sharp response from someone, but upon being gifted with nothing but silence, he lifted his head in confusion. Mrs Potts was looking at him in dismay, as if she hardly knew him at all.

"Not like that, Jesus Christ!" he exploded, rising from his chair. "I left, I told you. Gods, what did you think I did?!"

"Forgive us, master," said Lumiere rather feebly as no one else felt able to gather a response.

"Mind you," continued the Prince, his mood calming as he looked about the room, at his staff who seemed too embarrassed to meet his eye. "Given my rather debauched history, I cannot be surprised you might imagine I would stoop that low. Anyway…. None of it matters now."

"What do you mean, sir?" asked Plumette, alarm ridden in her voice, not her usual spritely self.

The Prince smiled at her gently as he looked at the Head Maid sympathetically.

"I mean to send her away," he said, slowly, so they all heard. "Away from here. From me."

"So you have said, but I must ask why," replied Mrs Potts, her voice stern, surprising the Prince.

"I cannot keep her here anymore, Mrs Potts," said the Prince, his impatience starting to seep in as he tried to get her to understand. "I don't trust myself and you know as well as I that no good will come of it. I am not Augustin, I cannot do as I like. Even though my father is here no longer, the Dukedom survives and I am the Duke of this county. She cannot stay. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"Forgive me Sir, but this is France," interjected Lumiere, but the Prince kept his gaze on Mrs Potts. From the sombre look on her face, he saw now that he had won over at least one person.

"We are not that cold-hearted little island across the sea!" continued Lumiere. "There is no shame in keeping a-"

"Don't say the word!" snarled the Prince, losing his temper for the first time since the beginning of the conversation, leaning across the table and pointing his finger towards Lumiere. "Don't you dare!"

"It is not a disreputable position to hold, sir," continued Lumiere, much to the Prince's dismay. "Surely you of all people must know that! Why, it is a well-known fact the mistresses in Versailles hold much more influence than the wives and, dare I say it, the Queen put together!"

"I don't care about that," replied the Prince through gritted teeth. "I don't care about what is socially acceptable or not! That is not the point! Belle is beyond such frivolities, she does not belong in such society."

Again, with no ally to back him, he looked towards Mrs Potts, but she viewed him with cold eyes, her brow lifted.

"I am saying she is better than them!" continued the young man, trying again. "She deserves more…."

"Surely, as Mrs Potts said at the beginning, she has more simply by being here," said Plumette softly as she approached the Prince again, but he merely shook his head in disagreement.

"She is trapped here; can't you see that? In all this time, she has listened to the woes that have befallen those in this castle…"

"Are you saying we are all trapped?" suggested Cogsworth, not amused by the notion in the slightest.

"Perhaps we are," replied the Prince softly, his eyes contemplative as he looked beyond the people in the room and towards something else. Something not yet visible to him.

"But now you are concerned about her woes… About the reason she is here…"

"Yes, of course, but it's more than that," said the young Duke, responding to Mrs Potts, who still sat in the corner, yet commanding more than one would assume. "I am worried about the future. Her future."

"She must make her own way, sir, if you truly care. You cannot make a path for someone else, they must make it themselves."

"Yes, but if she stays here, she won't be able to do that, not as a servant, and I will not have her as my mistress," persisted the Prince, now speaking to Mrs Potts alone. "First of all, I am sure she would find the idea abhorrent, and second…."

As he thought of what to say next, the Prince realized he had lost his train of thought. Indeed, he had lost more than that. Of course, he did not want Belle to go, but he was done making excuses for why she would have to stay.

"I want her to do whatever she wants to do," he said finally, turning towards them all. "Without ties, without obligations, without the burden of titles. I think I can help make that happen. I know this must sound peculiar to you all, but I don't want her trapped here, I don't want her to end up like….."

He couldn't say the words. Luckily, he didn't have to.

"Like the Duchess," said Mrs Potts, finishing his sentence, but she did not sound convinced.

"She wouldn't, she wouldn't, I promise you that," she continued, finally rising from her chair and walking forwards to join them all. "You are not your father. Please take the time to think about this carefully, sir. You might be able to help her more than you think."

"She cannot remain a servant here. Her father is in debt, a debt I can repay… She has done than enough to have that. But you and Cogsworth-"

Cogsworth looked up in alarm as the staff looked towards him.

"You and I must have a long talk about this," said the Prince, taking a long hard stare towards his Head of Staff. "About the estate. It's time I took responsibility for it and remedy the situation, if I can."

"What are going to do about Belle?" said Plumette softly.

"She has spent most of her time listening to me wallowing on about my past and this disgrace of a castle. It's time I listened to her. I will write a message to Belle now, Mrs Potts, will you take it to her?"

"Of course," said the old lady, surprised perhaps that the conversation was coming to an end.

"Make sure she gets it, and come back with a reply," said the Prince gravely as he opened the ink pot.

While the others had tried to persuade him, he had seen the truth in Mrs Potts' eyes, the wisest of them, he was sure. Though she disliked the idea, she knew, as well as he, that his reasoning was true. If he truly cared about her, this was the only solution available. He was through with living with a guilty conscience. For once, being selfish was the least desirable option for him.


End file.
